Eva gave a puzzled look and popped the lid off.
“Careful,” he said.
Inside was a smaller clear container wrapped in padding. Eva pulled the glass container out to see that it held a pair of flower blooms. Their speckled petals slowly opened and closed, like the holograms Eva had once seen of butterflies. One scurried around on little hairy roots while the other chirruped. “I’ve never seen anything like these.” She examined the blooms through the glass. “They’re beautiful. Where did you find them?”
“South. Way down south near where Antarctica used to be. They were really hard to catch.” He stepped close. “I hope they don’t have any deadly biters or stingers.”
Eva focused her eyes on them. The blooms released a puff of bioluminescent pollen. “No,” she said. “They’re harmless, and they’re fully grown, too.”
“I thought you’d like them,” he said with a lopsided grin. “Happy birthday.”
Eva set the jar down and put her arms around his neck. “Thank you, Hailey Turner.”
100 YEARS LATER
Granpa! Granpa! Did the story start yet?” The young Halcyonus toddled into the large round room. In his hands he held a fanciful carved wooden puppet of a Cærulean.
“Not yet, Liffa. I could not begin without my great-grandson,” the elderly Halcyonus said in a wavering tone. “Come. Sit with us, and I will tell you the story.”
The young Halcyonus crawled over the pillows, past his many family members, and found a spot right at the elder’s feet.
With a shaky arthritic hand the old Halcyonus pointed up to a peeling mural painted on the ceiling. “Last night I told you the story of the good King Ojo and the Great Migration. Tonight I will tell you about the nymph of the forest, Eva Nine, and how she brought peace to our world.”
“Granpa Zoozi, is it true you met her?” young Liffa asked.
“I did indeed,” the old Halcyonus replied with a smile. “I wasn’t much older than you when she first arrived in this very house.” He pointed at the puppet in Liffa’s lap. “She came with that fellow there, Rovender Kitt. Let me tell you about them. . . .”
200 YEARS LATER
From behind the shadow of the white-rimmed clouds, the sun’s bright rays pierced the sky. The melody of songbirds echoed throughout the entire canyon. Oaks, willows, and maples creaked in the swirling zephyr that danced around the grove of ancient trees.
A lone boy emerged from the shadows of the canyon wall and into the warm sunlight. Dressed in loose-fitting robes, he stepped out in a glade of richly patterned orchids. He soon stumbled backward when all the orchids took wing and fluttered off in a colorful flurry. This reminded the boy of the holograms he had seen of butterflies.
The boy walked through the pastoral canyon, basking in the splendor of its natural beauty. Cascades of foliage hung down the canyon walls, while the calls of exotic birds filled the air. The boy knelt down at the edge of a large pool and marveled at the brilliant orange fish that swam lazily about, their dorsal fins poking out of the water. He tried to stroke one with his fingers, but the school of fish darted away.
A strangely accented voice could be heard speaking close by. “Tadu all can see a feezeral example of the archi-build style of the time period when feezi, known as Eva, would have arrived. Modular housing units paan brassookly fabricated and stacked up, not unlike building blocks. The housing layout and inhabitant designation fetaa determined the city itself, shudurong a then-complex core central processor . . .”
Curious, the boy snuck through the brush and discovered a group of people. Fabulous creatures accompanied the people, the sort that the boy had seen only in his fairy tale programs, and he wondered if this were some sort of elaborate hologram. The group hovered in the air, floating around one human leader. Their feet brushed the topmost blades of grass. None touched the ground.
The leader opened the palm of his hand, out of which projected a vivid hologram of a boxy building. He then aligned the hologram over a wall of greenery, showing the structure underneath. “Daffere the ancient edifice that is beneath the foliage here,” the leader said. “It would have paan storefront, or place of commerce, for the Atticans.”
One of the nonhuman creatures in the group noticed the boy. It pointed at him and spoke in a language that the boy did not understand. In moments the entire group floated over and surrounded the boy.
“Dat, dat, dat! Ovanduu not allowed on the actual ground. Daffa your hovpack mal?” the leader asked. The leader was a clean-cut young man with mint-green skin, dressed in reflective form-fitted clothing. Animated words danced up and down the sleeves of his tunic. They read: ANCIENT ATTICAN TOURS.
The boy backed up and pulled out an Omnipod. He aimed it at the leader.
“Dat! And ovanduu def not supposed to be touching the artifacts,” the leader said. “Ovanda body oils will accelerate their decomposition. Plassil hand it over.” He held out a gloved hand.
“No!” The boy pulled back. “This is my Omnipod.”
“This effu quite a realistic reenactment,” said one of the others in the group.
“Tes, I am impressed,” added another.
The leader ignored this statement and hovered close. “Can I, at least, take a look at ovanduu O-pod, feezi? It looks very authentic. Did ovanda make it yourself?”
“It was given to me at birth.” The boy showed the leader the device.
The human leader studied the Omnipod and its glowing central light. He looked back at the boy, clearly puzzled. “Ovanda say tateel?”
The boy blinked at this question, clearly dumbfounded.
The leader spoke again, slowly. “What . . . is . . . your name? Where . . . are . . . you from?”
The boy pointed to the canyon wall. “My Sanctuary is under there.”
The leader gave a nervous laugh and looked at the group. “Kip funny. As hesu know, all HRP Sanctuaries have been defunct for a pasa centuries.” He turned back to the boy. “Let me contact ovanda family so they can retrieve you. What . . . is . . . your name?”
“Cadmus Pryde,” the boy answered. “But my parents called me Cap.”
300 YEARS LATER
The lichen trees reached up to the morning sun and shaded the bustling village below. On ancient cobblestone walks, under sun-bleached tents and tarps, Scriba scuttled through the bazaar on his many padded tentapeds. Though he had been alive for many decades, he was still considered a juvenile by moul standards.
He traveled down the winding walks past stalls that sold racks of pungent spices, statuettes of pillar guards, and piles of colorful cracked earthenware. He passed under an excavated stone archway with a collection of corroded signs hanging from it and turned into an indoor area of sorts. Inside the rounded tunnel structure brilliant clusters of lanterns hung over bolts and rolls of faded fabrics. He approached an old moul asleep behind his stall.
“Symbol-making liquid of the ancients, please,” Scriba said in a puff of myriad colors and hues. He set a small jar down on the cluttered counter.
“For Berkari?” the old moul asked, keeping all eight of its beady eyes closed.
“Of course. Who else?” Scriba said.
The old moul returned to its nap.
Scriba sighed and lifted an urn to fill his jar, spilling only a few drops of black ink on the other valuables sold at the stall.
“Many gratitudes.” He scuttled off.
He entered a large ancient building with a domed roof. Inside, the main room opened to a grand chamber ringed with numerous floors. Each floor was lined with shelving, which in turn was crammed full of tomes from long ago. Brown decrepit books of every shape and size were stacked in orderly heaps on examination tables. Through excavated windows set in the ceiling, stray beams from the sun bathed the library in a dim, dusty light. Seated at a round table, with his back to the door, was a single old moul.
Without turning to greet Scriba, he spoke. “Did you acquire more?”
Scriba brought the jar over. “Yes, Master
Berkari. Here it is.”
“Set it here.” Berkari gestured to the tabletop. “And try not to spill any.”
“Of course, Master. I would never do that with your precious resource,” said Scriba in a patronizing tone. He set the jar down carefully, using several of his tentapeds to keep it from spilling.
“Very good,” Berkari said. He placed a pointed stylus into the inkwell and continued with his writing. “This should be the last we need for now. I am almost done.”
Scriba examined his teacher’s work. On the blank pages of a journal, Berkari had penned a story in the same archaic language of the ancients.
“It took me many centuries to learn this old language and then read every volume that was left behind,” Berkari said. “And so I find it fitting that it is in this ancient language that this old myth be written down before it is long forgotten and kept here alongside the seed of its origin.”
Berkari closed the journal. The antique cover bore his detailed drawing of a young white-haired girl walking arm in arm with a robot and a Cærulean. In fancy type above was written the title.
WondLa.
The End
THE ORBONIAN ALPHABET
A common alphabet is used by the inhabitants of Orbona. The chart that follows is the key to unlocking their written language. The main alphabet consists of thirty-two characters (as opposed to the English alphabet, which comprises twenty-six), and many of these are derived from symbols of familiar objects, actions, or ideas. They are shown in alphabetical order with the compound letters at the end, although this is not the order Orbonians would use. Orbonians would align similar symbols alongside one another so that their youth could identify different characteristics more easily.
Orbonians write in a vertical manner and from left to right. Compound words are often broken up, with their individual parts written alongside one another as seen here in “the Wastelands”:
Capital letters are larger versions of the lower-case letters. Proper nouns use a large version of the letter with the remainder of the word written to the right of it, as can be seen here in the word “Lacus”:
There are many shortcut symbols for small words like “of” and “the,” both of which are included on the chart. However, the focus here is on the main alphabet so that readers may be able to decipher Orbonian writing.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Eva’s story comes to an end and I take a bow along with these fine folks who helped me.
As always, I thank my ever-faithful managers, Ellen Goldsmith-Vein and Julie Kane-Ritsch, as well as publicist Maggie Begley, who have continued their unending support for this story, for me, and all that I do.
I can’t express my gratitude to the team at Simon & Schuster Books for Young Readers quite enough. Jon Anderson, Justin Chanda, and Anne Zafian continue to inspire me with their incredible enthusiasm and passion for quality bookmaking. Of course my editor, the always vigilant David Gale, guided me through this most ambitious trilogy safely to its conclusion.
I am indebted to my story gurus, Steve Berman and Heidi Stemple, who aided me with those adventurous turns and momentous twists that needed the extra attention (and to Heidi’s cupcakes, which soothed the sting of Steve’s edits). Ari Berk offered philosophical feedback and challenged me along the way. I feel I have grown as a storyteller because of the conversations with all three of these fantastic minds.
Interplanetary visionary Chris Rose and my amazing assistant, Ashley Valentine, offered feedback and cheered me on throughout the entire process. I cherished their thoughts and fresh perspectives.
While the words and plot slowly came into focus for Eva and company, my sketchbook began to fill with visions of alien flora and fauna. Scott Fischer and John Lind were with me every step of the way, critiquing and offering creative solutions. The digital aspect of the illustrations was completed with the help of the diligent David White. All of this was done under the guidance of my effervescent art director, Lizzy Bromley. I am proud to share the art in this book and for that I thank you all.
When I began writing the final chapter of Eva’s story, I lost the only grandmother I had growing up. Mary DiTerlizzi’s feisty and enduring spirit permeated these words, and because of her passing, I finally understood what this story was about. She will walk on in my family’s memories.
Lastly, I must thank my two heroes—my wife, Angela, and my daughter, Sophia. Your love and support kept me going day in and day out. I could not have created this without you. You are my WondLa.
Never abandon imagination.
TONY DITERLIZZI
is the visionary mind that conceived of the Spiderwick Chronicles. He has been creating books with Simon & Schuster for more than a decade. From fanciful picture books like The Spider and the Fly (a Caldecott Honor) to young chapter books like Kenny and the Dragon, Tony has always imbued his stories with a rich imagination. His series the Spiderwick Chronicles (with Holly Black) has sold millions of copies worldwide and was adapted into a feature film.
Inspired by stories by the likes of the Brothers Grimm, James M. Barrie, and L. Frank Baum, The Search for WondLa series is a new fairy tale for the twenty-first century.
SIMON & SCHUSTER BOOKS FOR YOUNG READERS
SIMON & SCHUSTER • NEW YORK
authors.simonandschuster.com/Tony-Diterlizzi
Meet the author, watch videos, and get extras at
KIDS.SimonandSchuster.com
TONY DITERLIZZI WOULD LIKE TO THANK EVERYONE AT SIMON & SCHUSTER WHO WORKED ON The Battle for WondLa:
President
JON ANDERSON
Publisher
JUSTIN CHANDA
Deputy Publisher
ANNE ZAFIAN
Editorial
DAVID GALE
LIZ KOSSNAR
NAVAH WOLFE
Design
LIZZY BROMLEY
TOM DALY
Managing Editorial/
Copyediting
AMY BARTRAM
DOROTHY GRIBBIN
Production
ALBERT IMPARATO
CHAVA WOLIN
Marketing
NICK ELLIOT
MICHELLE FADLALLA
CHRISSY NOH
MATT PANTOLIANO
LUCILLE RETTINO
VENESSA WILLIAMS
Publicity
PAUL CRICHTON
KATY HERSHBERGER
Sales
JIM CONLIN
VICTOR IANNONE
JERRY JENSEN
BRIAN KELLEHER
LORELEI KELLY
KAREN LAHEY
MARY MAROTTA
CHRISTINA PECORALE
ALL THE FIELD, TELEMARKETING,
AND TELESALES REPS
Subsidiary Rights
NICHOLE BEAULIEU
DEANE NORTON
SY SUNG
STEPHANIE VOROS
Legal
VERONICA JORDAN
KATHLEEN NOLAN
JENNIFER WEIDMAN
Supply Chain
CHRISTINE DONG
IAN REILLY
Audio
SARAH LIEBERMAN
CHRIS LYNCH
MICHAEL NOBLE
FRED SANDERS
ELISA SHOKOFF
LOUISA SOLOMON
JOANNA SOLOTAROFF
TOM SPAIN
GLOSSARY
Being both terms used colloquially among the human race and alien terms translated through the use of a vocal transcoder.
Age of Man—the period in Orbona’s history when humans ruled the planet and referred to it as Earth.
air-breaker—an automated airship, usually a Human Repopulation Project (HRP) cargo transcarrier, that has had its central processing unit (CPU) reprogrammed so that the ship may be controlled by manual means.
air-whale—a gigantic flying animal indigenous to Orbona and likely mutated by the introduction of the Vitae Virus. Physical characteristics include a pair of helium-filled air sacs and towering dorsal and anal
fins, bringing to mind the ocean sunfish from the Age of Man. They travel in pods and feed on knifejacks and pollen.
AnatoScan—a program integrated into specific human attire, usually utilitunics, that monitors and regulates human body functions such as hydration, illness, and core temperature. Most versions use an animated shoulder patch as a display and interface.
Arsian—a mysterious, ancient, and powerful alien race. Four Arsian siblings traveled to Orbona during the Great Migration: Darius, who had the ability to see into the past; Arius, who had the ability to see into the future; Zin, who sought and retained great knowledge; and Loroc, who exhibited great fortitude and strength.
authoritons—biomechanical robots created by the Dynastes Corporation to serve as protectors and peacekeepers for human society. They monitor movement, body temperature, and sound to detect and apprehend would-be fugitives by use of SHOCdarts.
automedic—a medical robot used by the humans of New Attica. All automedics are connected to one another and act as a hive-mind, sharing experience, data, and knowledge so that their performance improves with each interaction with human patients.
autoserver—a short cylindrical robotic aide available for public use by the citizens of New Attica. It can be transported throughout the city by use of pneumatic tubes.
Awakening—a holiday celebrated among the human citizens in New Attica, which marks the day Cadmus zero-one was successfully cloned.
beamguide—a translucent alien artifact that is roughly the size and shape of a die. When light enters the beamguide, it projects a three-dimensional map of any given land or city.
Beeboo and Company—a series of holographic children’s programs created by the Dynastes Corporation that focuses on moral and life lessons and features several main characters, including Racing Raccoon, Outdoor Octopus, Reassuring Robot, and Builder Beeboo, who is a cat.
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