Lost Worlds (Keeper of the Emerald Book 1)

by B. C. Harris

  I quickly turn my head in every direction as I look around in the pouring rain. I can’t make out the details of anything in the blinding rain and darkness. I begin to tremble.

  Out of fear, I start to walk as fast as I can, but with the rain now dropping as though someone is pouring buckets of water over me, I have difficulty seeing which way to go.

  At first, I amble aimlessly trying to avoid the multitude of sleeping morphradels. Whenever lightning brightens up the landscape around me, as though someone has switched on a powerful searchlight, I attempt to find somewhere to hide.

  Several bursts of lightning create a momentarily glimpse of my surroundings. Before the light disappears, I see what appear to be mountains in the distance.

  I wonder whether I should start walking towards them or whether I should stay where I am for the night. Perhaps, I should wait. After all, isn’t it better to remain where I am if I’m lost, and I know that I’m certainly lost? What if the sethaurus returns?

  There is a faint streak of lightning in the sky some distance away. The storm is passing. Although the night sky is still littered with dark clouds, there are now a few stars here and there. Yes, the storm is moving away as quickly as it first appeared.

  I start to take a few more steps, but then stop.

  My mind is beginning to shut down.

  I’m completely exhausted. I think about sleeping.

  Finally, having no more strength left, I sit down and close my eyes.

  - 3 -

  THE BRILLIANT GREEN LIGHT

  I feel a slight chill as I attempt to pull a blanket around me for warmth, only to find that there’s no blanket. Bewildered, I sit upright. I’m surrounded by the beautiful blue arms of bushes waving in the air.

  Where am I?

  I remember something about visiting a strange world last night although I think it must have been a dream.

  As I look around me, I realize I slept on the cold ground.

  The morning appears to be very young. As I stand, I notice the soft outline of faraway mountains that are a delicate shade of purple in the early morning light. The sun has not yet appeared.

  “Good morning Emily,” a deep gruff voice says.

  Confused, I know I should recognize the odd voice, but I can’t quite recall where I’ve heard it before.

  “Did you sleep well?” the throaty voice continues.

  “Radwin,” I blurt out.

  “Yes. It’s me.”

  I remember the yellow fish-like creature with two heads from last night. The toadling? Or was it the doadling? Yes, now I recall more about last night. I remember the doadling being attacked by a ferocious creature.

  “Where are you?” I nervously say as I begin to look around me. For the most part all I can see are the waving blues arms of the plants.

  “Over here,” the deep voice says.

  Finally, I see Radwin.

  He’s lying comfortably in the waving blue arms of several bushes. I can’t quite remember the name of them although I know Radwin told me what they were last night. As I move closer to him, some of the branches brush softly against me. They feel good, like someone is giving me a delicate massage.

  The pale doadling smiles at me.

  I recall that he has two heads, or at least he had two heads until he was attacked last night.

  Part of his body where he lost his head is immersed in the flowing blue arms of the bushes. Although it’s difficult for me to see what’s happening, he looks content.

  I remember something else from last night. Didn’t I touch one of these plants and it broke into tiny pieces?

  When I’m a step away, I notice the plants where he’s lying are pulsating with a beautiful array of shades of blue. It’s as though he’s lying on a glowing bed with delicate hands fanning all around him.

  Radwin grins at me as though he’s happy to see me again. I notice he’s a faded creamy color, not at all like the brilliant yellow he was when I first met him last night. I remember his flashing lights, but now there are none.

  “What are you doing?” I ask.

  “I’m regenerating,” he replies.

  “You’re what?”

  “Growing my head back. Do you think I would go on living with just one head and look ridiculous like you?”

  “Growing your head back? How can you do that?”

  “The morphradels are helping to heal me,” he answers with impatience.

  Morphradels. That’s what those things are called, I think. How can they help heal him?

  “They can heal me by altering the energy around my wound,” Radwin replies as though he heard my thoughts.

  I’m startled by his comment. How did he know what I was thinking?

  “I know what you were thinking because your thoughts were transmitted to me by sensergy.”

  In my mind is a faint recollection of the word sensergy from last night, but then again so many new things happened to me last night that I can’t quite remember what the word means.

  “Can everybody here hear my thoughts?” I ask.

  “Not all the inhabitants of Tamor can understand sensergy,” Radwin says in his gruff voice, “but doadlings can. After all, we’re more advanced than most other creatures.”

  “Doesn’t it get confusing having all kinds of thoughts from others constantly entering your brain? How can you possibly think when your mind is filled with what everyone else is thinking?

  Radwin begins to laugh, an infectious laugh that could make even the saddest person smile.

  “Actually, using sensergy isn’t much different than normal listening. When more than one person is talking to me at the same time, I decide which person I am going to listen to and then tune out the others. I might be in a place with many people speaking to each other, but I only hear the person whom I want to hear, or sometimes I don’t even bother hearing anyone. As well, at least for doadlings, the person we are listening to must be fairly close to us; otherwise we can’t hear their thoughts.”

  “Oh, I see,” I reply, realizing that some people on my planet claim they can hear others using telepathy which I think must be something like sensergy. “What about these plant things you call morphradels? How are they able to talk?”

  “Can’t most people talk on your planet?” Radwin says.

  “People? Are you suggesting that the morphradels are people? They look like plants.”

  “We most certainly are people,” a chorus of soft voices reply in unison.

  “Who said that?” I say anxiously.

  “It’s us, the morphradels,” come dozens of soothing voices all speaking together.

  “But plants can’t talk,” I say. Then I remember that they might have spoken to me last night.

  “In my world, all people look the same. We have one head and two arms and two legs, but here doadlings have two heads and morphradels don’t appear to have any heads at all and they have dozens of arms. How can you both be people when you look so different?”

  “Is there some kind of rule that states that people all have to look the same?”

  I’m puzzled. I begin to sit down.

  “Hey, don’t sit down on me,” a morphradel says.

  It’s too late. I’m already squashing its arms underneath me.

  Although the warm vibration of the morphradel on my legs feels good, I quickly stand up again.

  Gazing around me, this is all too much for me to understand. Tears begin to grow in my eyes.

  “What’s wrong? Have I done something to upset you?”

  “No,” I say. “I’m confused. I want to go home.”

  What if I never get home? I’ll never see my mother again, I think.

  The morphradels begin to cry in soft melancholy voices. Their beautiful blue arms start to fade in color and they begin to droop. It’s as though the life is being sucked out of them.

  “Rad, what’s happening to the morphadels?”

  “They are feeling your unhappiness. When you’re sad, they are sad. When y
ou’re happy, they will be happy too.”

  “Well, I think I like them much better when they’re happy.”

  “Start to smile. Begin to laugh,” Radwin says eagerly.

  In spite of my fears about getting back home, I force myself to smile. Although it’s difficult for me to do, I try to clear my head of any negative thoughts. I notice a little color coming back into the arms of the morphradels around me.

  I think of being home again which really makes me smile. The morphradels stop crying. The world around me feels better.

  “I’ll find a way to get back home again,” I say with growing determination.

  “That’s the spirit,” Radwin says enthusiastically.

  The arms of several morphadels that cover the doadling’s wound begin to radiate with pulsating colors.

  “Ah, that feels good.”

  I think about what is happening and say, “Are you telling me that when I’m happy, I’m helping you to get better?”

  “Absolutely.”

  I stare at the waving morphradels that are spellbinding in their beauty. It’s beginning to be a clear, warm day. I take in a huge breath of fresh air. I remember how my mother taught me to take long, deep breaths when I’m anxious. I take another big breath and count slowly to ten; then exhale gradually. After doing this several times I begin to feel more relaxed.

  “I think I have a lot to learn,” I say to no one in particular. I notice that Radwin is beginning to appear a brighter yellow.

  “Are morphradels like doctors?”

  “What are doctors?”

  “Doctors are people who help you when you get sick or injured,” I say.

  “Yes, I guess you could say that morphradels are like doctors,” Radwin replies, then pauses before continuing, his voice a little more serious. “I better stop talking now so the morphradels can regenerate my missing head a little quicker. Perhaps you need to reflect on how you got here last night because you might be able to return home the same way you arrived.”

  As I consider what Radwin said to me, I try to recall everything that happened last night. I remember asking my mother for her emerald necklace. She placed it on my night table beside my bed. Before falling asleep, I took the necklace and fastened it around my neck.

  I touch my neck. The emerald is still there. I look at the emerald. I recall how it began to glow in the dark, and then unexpectedly I found myself in this strange world.

  I don’t know for sure if it was the emerald that brought me here, or whether it was something else.

  I begin to feel sad. If I can’t figure out how I got here, I’ll never get back home again.

  The morphradels begin to lose their vibrant colors.

  “Oh no, I’ve done it again,” I say, my voice reflecting my regret. “How can I stay positive when things look so hopeless for me?”

  “This is the exact time when you need to be most positive,” Radwin says. “Anyone can be optimistic when things are going well, but the real key to achieving your dreams is to remain positive when you are facing some obstacles that are blocking what you want to get.”

  “How can I do that?” I ask. “How can I possibly remain positive when I’m lost and confused?”

  Radwin gazes carefully at me and replies in his deep voice, “The first thing you need to do is say three things you are thankful for.”

  “Three things I’m thankful for? What does that have to do with anything?”

  “Try it,” Radwin confidently suggests as he falls deeper into the soothing arms of the blue morphradels.

  “But I’m lost,” I protest. “How can I be happy about that?”

  The morphradels start to sag as though someone has pushed the off button on an electric toy.

  “Okay, okay,” I shout. “I can’t let the morphradels die. Here are three things I’m thankful for. First, I’m thankful that I’m still alive after that frightening storm last night. And I…, I’m also thankful because Radwin is my new friend, and I…, I…, I’m also thankful for – let me see – I’m also thankful that I know I will find a way to get back home again.”

  I begin to visualize being safe and warm back in my bed.

  The morphradels begin to wave their arms once again creating a beautiful carpet of every shade of blue imaginable.

  Radwin laughs. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

  But I’m still lost, I think to myself.

  “Emily, look! You’re starting to glow.”

  Taken aback by what Radwin said to me, I wonder what he’s talking about. There is a green light beginning to flow from the emerald necklace that I am wearing.

  The green glow is hypnotic.

  I can’t move. It’s as though someone has glued my feet to the ground. I watch in amazement as the brilliant green light becomes more intense. It ebbs around me. Soon I’m immersed in the incredible green light.

  When the radiant green light envelopes me, I feel a great surge of energy vibrating through every cell in my body.

  - 4 -

  LEGENDS

  I blink as I read the large clock on my classroom wall. In another thirty-three minutes school will be over for the day. Tuesdays are the longest day of the school week for me, and today is no exception. Although I’m interested in listening to Ms. Kelly, my English teacher, who is talking about legends, my mind is beginning to wander. For the hundredth time, I recall the strange experience of visiting an unusual world last night.

  I’m still not completely sure whether I was dreaming or whether I somehow traveled out of my bedroom. This morning I found myself back in bed.

  Sometimes my mother tells me that I live in an imaginary world. This might certainly be one of those times. In spite of my vivid imagination, what happened last night was too real for me to discount as a dream. I keep trying to shove what might have happened out of my mind, but almost as quickly as I try to think about something else, the thoughts I’m trying to avoid keep returning.

  Is it possible that my mother’s emerald has magical powers? Is this the reason why she had never let me touch it before? I touch my neck but the necklace is no longer there. Perhaps my mother took it back from me before I woke up this morning.

  I wonder if my father is somehow connected to the puzzling emerald. Maybe years ago, he looked into the emerald and traveled to another planet like I did last night, but for some unexplainable reason he was unable to return back to Earth.

  I’m beginning to imagine a mission to rescue him when Ms. Kelly interrupts my thoughts by asking a question that I don’t quite hear. I almost jump out of my seat, thinking that the question was directed at me.

  I begin to twist the ends of my long hair with my fingers.

  “What might be an example of a legend?” Ms. Kelly asks again.

  I breathe a momentary sigh of relief as I realize that the question was not addressed to me, but rather to the class.

  Ms. Kelly, everyone’s favorite teacher, is tall with shoulder length brown hair. She has a broad accepting smile that makes everyone feel special in her class. She’s also a laid-back teacher, having the kind of personality that makes me feel comfortable.

  Before anyone responds, Michael Worsley, the boy who caused Jasmin to fall down yesterday, says, “Peter Pan.”

  His comment brings laughter. Anything Michael says generally brings laughter from the others in our class. Sometimes even a harsh word from his teachers. But never from Ms. Kelly. She’s the most patient, understanding teacher in the school. She accepts the occasional joke from students provided that it isn’t aimed at embarrassing someone else.

  Ms. Kelly flashes her trademark smile. Looking kindly at Michael, she says, “Look at the definition again Michael.”

  I notice that most eyes turn to the words on a screen at the front of the room although some are still glued to Michael, eagerly expecting another remark that will incite a new round of laughter.

  “Michael, read this for the class again,” Ms. Kelly gently, but assertively says as she points at the
screen.

  Michael starts with a tone in his voice that suggests at any moment he might provide more humor. “Legend: a story that is sometimes popularly regarded as being true but is really just a myth.”

  There’s an awkward pause following Michael’s words as though everyone is waiting for him to add something funny to his comments. I notice him looking at Jasmin.

  “But Ms. Kelly, I’ve seen Tinker Bell before,” Michael continues with great exaggeration. “She sprinkles sugar dust over my cookies all the time. Then the cookies begin to fly around my house.”

  Once again there’s a ripple of laughter throughout our class, although as generally is the case, I suspect that no one really knows whether they are laughing at what Michael said, or because of the way he said it.

  In spite of Michael’s outburst, Ms. Kelly, showing respect for him, continues without scolding him, “Michael, Peter Pan is what might be considered a fantasy story, but it is not really considered to be a legend.”

  Ms. Kelly continues, “When a story is so believable that people begin to think it is real, even though there’s no historical truth that it ever happened, it can become a legend.”

  The tall, attractive teacher pauses to let us reflect on what she has said. Ms. Kelly often used these brief interludes to ensure that we’re listening.

  Looking content, Ms. Kelly continues, “What are some other thoughts about possible legends?”

  Martha Williamson’s hand shoots into the air. While most teachers insist on students raising their hands before speaking, Ms. Kelly permits students to speak out in response to her questions without raising their hands provided that we respect each other, and no one dominates the conversation. Martha, on the other hand, tends to ignore this unwritten class rule. She likes raising her hand high in the air whenever she has something to say.

  Martha exhibits an attitude that says, “I could be the teacher of this class if Ms. Kelly was away.”

  “Yes Martha,” Ms. Kelly says.

  “I think Robin Hood is an example of a legend,” Martha states in her normal boastful manner that is supposed to tell the rest of us that she’s smarter than us.