THE KEEPERS OF THE EMERALD CAVE:
THE MISFORTUNE OF THE EMERALD THIEF
High-concept: Spider-Man meets Lord of the Rings
For 14-year-old Denim River, the problem is not that the magic in his family is real. He gets that the guys can make bubbles any size, shape, scent, or color, and the girls can bend time and phase themselves from place to place…blah, blah, blah. But become Seattle’s next Bubble Ranger? Run the family’s magic store with his Grandpa Naveen? OMG--why? So the whole world will know he descended from clowns? No, thanks!
But when another bubble-maker, the mysterious long-haired Ladarius, unexpectedly shows up at one of Naveen’s magic shows and steals the emerald G-Naveen just blew out of his favorite bubble pipe, Denim discovers there’s more to life than entertaining squealing tourists.The baton has been passed. He finds out he and his 11-year-old sister Ravenna are the next KEEPERS OF THE EMERALD CAVE; defenders of the secret, glittery green energy source the people of the Pacific Northwest are unaware of, but depend on every day, and Denim’s new powers are tested right away:
In the Cascade Mountains just east of Seattle, the water levels of the highest alpine lakes are dropping and threatening the Tarn, the beautiful, watery creatures who call the lakes their home. Using abandoned tunnels built by the Delve, Denim and his family, along with members of a secret mountain faction of the Weald, must find out where the water is going and if someone is behind it, before it's too late.
THE SEVEN DOMAINS
The Riders ride the wind,
The Shine are energy.
The Delve dwell in the soil below,
The Tarn swim in the sea.
The Weald celebrate life
and with humans find a home.
The Leavings are never settled,
never happy, doomed to roam.
The Rivers protect the power
that unites them and divides them:
always present, always loyal,
on the land or in the sea,
as long as the Emerald Cave glitters,
and their bubbles float free.
Chapter 1: Curses and Old Capes
There
had to be a better way to get through town.
I
gripped the bar above my head as the bus rounded corner after corner, lurching
to a stop every other block to let some riders off and even more on. I was
stuck in the land of standing-room only and its sea of perfume threatened to
knock me over dead. I couldn’t take it anymore. I jumped off early and headed
for the market. It was easy to tell which way to go. All I had to do was follow
the stupid bubbles.
They
were everywhere. Thousands of sparkly round rainbows spun in the morning air,
dripping sticky solution on tourists and every kind of thing for sale. They
bobbed around old-fashioned ironwork and an endless run of neon signs. They lit
up the market like fireworks, swirling through the stalls and disappearing
through doorways, their silent flight disturbed by only one thing--a giant dead
fish flying through the air. A word to the wise...one wrong move in Seattle’s
Pike Place Market could get you nailed in the head with a twenty-pound chicken
of the sea.
“ALBACORE!
Hey-ahhhh!” A two-foot-long tuna sailed over a tall counter and landed neatly
in the hands of a tattooed fish monger. I ducked just in time as cheers rang
out from the crowd. As it turned out, that was the least of my worries that day.
I
left the flying fish show behind and made my way to the other side of the
market through an explosion of bubbles streaming through the air. As I pushed
though the tourists, the smell of the coffee in their cups and the fresh-baked
baguettes in their shopping bags teased my nose. My stomach growled. Why on
earth did I skip breakfast again? Oh, that’s right. I woke up late. My arms and
legs still felt like they were filled with lead. Maybe I was getting the flu, with
a giant side of train wreck.
On
the other side of the plaza, my grandpa setting up his table in his usual spot.
I turned down the machine responsible for the limited visibility behind me. “Too
high, G-Naveen. You know the market cops want you to keep this thing on level
three, not five. Look at that. Nobody can see anything. You want the fish guys
to complain again? And one of these days you’re going to cause a car accident.”
I pointed to the curb behind the table. A steady stream of cars drove slowly through
the center of the market, passengers snapping photos.
My grandpa, Naveen River, or
“G-Naveen,” was Seattle’s famous Bubble Ranger, heavy on show, low on sense. He
just laughed at me before turning to smile and wave at the passing cars.
“Oh, Denim, relax. The people
love the bubbles! They know the show’s about to start!” From his carpet bag,
G-Naveen pulled out his cape with a flourish. I stepped up to tie it around his
thin neck. He’d been wearing the same cape for as long as I could remember and
it was beginning to show some wear, but he refused to get a new one and “bring
down the bad juju” on his show. That worn-out black velvet cape, along with his
crisp white shirt, cinnamon-hued vest, and ever-present bubble pipe, were just
as important to the Bubble Ranger’s show as the River family secret.
The secret. The curse is more
like it.
Curses and old capes were the
story of my life.
~ ~ ~
Stepping back, I tripped over
something that wasn’t there two seconds before. “What the heck?” I looked down.
My sister Ravenna was crouched on the sidewalk, digging through our grandpa’s
ancient carpetbag.
“Sorry, my brother!” She looked
up and shot me a goofy grin. After plopping a velvet hat dripping with pale
silk flowers on her head, she blew me a kiss then went back to rooting around
in Grandpa’s bag. Eleven years old and a little bossy britches, my sister was
doomed to join the circus life right along with me. I knew it was coming. They
said it started around the age of fourteen.
I turned fourteen last week.
“Go stand by Rachel, and don’t
do anything stupid this time. Just hand out these flyers for G-Naveen’s store.”
I handed her a stack of advertisements each containing a coupon for a free plastic
bubble wand from The Mystical Armarium. In English that means, “the magic
closet,” which is a perfect description of my grandpa’s shop. You can barely
walk through the aisles for all the junk in the way.
I pointed Ravenna toward the
life-size bronze statue of Rachel, the life-size piggy bank standing center stage
in Pike Place Market. Thousands of people travel to Seattle every year and have
their pictures taken sitting on that pig. No doubt they were the same people
who poured into G-Naveen’s shop day after day to spend their money on magical
gadgets that don’t work and bags of crystals that do nothing. I was pretty sure
most people needed their heads examined.
My sister skipped away, a giant
smile on her face. She waved the flyers in the air and called to the crowd,
“Get your magic wands from the Master of Magic! Come and see the Bubble Ranger!
The coolest show in Seattle! In the world! The show is about to start!”
I shook my head. Ravenna loved
this. She couldn’t wait for her powers to gain their full strength. If our
parents allowed it, she would leave Astoria and move to Seattle to live with
the Gs. Then she could spend all of her time in the Armarium soaking up
Grandpa’s crazy stories, honing her own special freak show skills.
“Denim! Help me with these will
you?” I turned and saw G-Naveen balancing too many things in his arms as usual.
I lifted several bubble wands out of his hands and placed them on the table.
The wands he’d made with handles of inlaid wood and emeralds, sapphires and
other gemstones along with crystals that winked in the light. But they were all
show. The Bubble Ranger didn’t need wands. He didn’t even need soap.
“No problem, Grandpa. It’s what
I’m here for,” I mumbled under my breath.
Bubbles, bubbles, bubbles. I
was so glad we didn’t live in Seattle. Hopefully G-Naveen never moves this
circus act to Astoria, because then everyone would know I descended from
clowns.
After glancing over to make
sure Ravenna was still near the pig, I took one last look at the table. A
cobalt blue satin cloth covered its surface. G-Naveen’s favorite bubble pipe stood
on its stand between two large crystal rock formations. A large bowl sat behind
the pipe, releasing tiny wisps of blue smoke from the swirling liquid rainbow
inside.
The Bubble Ranger was ready for
another show.
~ ~ ~
An hour later, a large crowd was
pressed together, jockeying for the best view. Often gasping in unison, they
watched my grandpa perform his magic. They laughed at cookie-scented bubbles
and shrieked when stinky ones filled the air with the scent of burnt toast. G-Naveen
was always careful with those. He wanted to entertain, not drive people away.
I watched him glide from adult
to kid and back, smiling, winking, waving his fancy wands around. He made it
look so easy, the show.
Violet blue and rose red
bubbles the size of dinner plates flew into the air. He spun around, cape
flying, and dipped the wand once again into the steaming liquid on the table.
With a dramatic sweep of his arm, thousands of tiny pearly white bubbles, each
no bigger than a quarter, chased the jewel-toned bubbles above the crowd. Even
I had to admit it was mesmerizing to watch, like the beads of a broken necklace
flung across the sky.
“What is your favorite scent,
young lady?” G-Naveen smiled down into the face of a girl about six years old.
“I like popcorn! With butter!
Can you do that?” The girl jumped up and down as she held her mother’s hand.
Her father raised his camera for the prized Bubble Ranger photo opportunity
heading their way. I knew my grandpa was famous, at least in Seattle, and his
street shows were more popular than ever before, but it was taking a toll on G-Naveen.
He already put in long hours at The Mystical Armarium, but the mysterious trips
he went on meant he wasn’t always around, and then people complained there
weren’t enough street shows. Tourists don’t like to hear the Bubble Ranger is
out of town after they’d just flown in from the East Coast. Which was where I
came in.
Welcome to my future: making
bubbles and headlines as Seattle’s Number One Freak.
My
training had already begun. It’s not like my sister and I were in Seattle by
accident. We were packed off as soon as school ended and sent to live with our
grandparents. Our job was to learn how to run the store and help with the magic
shows, but the idea of permanently stepping into G-Naveen’s size twelve purple
wingtips made me want to run screaming for the hills.
Don’t
most parents want their kids to go to college?
The little girl from the crowd
shrieked again, sending chills down my spine. Her family had already been to
the shop because she wore a Bubble Ranger shirt over her dress and carried one
of G-Naveen’s more fancy wands in her hand. A Mystical Armarium gift bag
dangled from her mother’s wrist.
“Buttered popcorn it is.”
G-Naveen closed his eyes. He turned his face toward the sky as though
concentrating. I knew better, but he wanted it to look convincing to the
crowds.
In one fluid motion, G-Naveen
turned and dipped his favorite emerald wand into the large bowl of solution on
the table. When he turned back to the girl, his eyes were playful, his smile
inviting. Swirling pale yellow bubbles as large as her head floated from his
wand.
The crowd watched as they
approached the girl, closer and closer.
Dad had the camera ready, but
looked a little nervous. Mom laid one hand on her daughter’s shoulder as the
bubbles began their soft descent toward her child.
POP!
The first one landed on the
girl’s head, the next--POP!--on her
arm. The scent of popcorn with plenty of butter filled the air as the rest of
the bubbles found their targets.
“POPCORN!” The little girl
screamed. “Mommy! The Bubble Ranger made me popcorn bubbles!”
“I see that, honey. And I smell
it, too.” She looked relieved her daughter had survived the strange street
performance. Tourists. What did they think was going to happen? Did they think
my grandpa would hurt someone on purpose? Please.
Applause rang out from the crowd,
as did all of the usual praise for the great Naveen River, “Do you smell that?
Popcorn! With butter! I can’t believe it! How does he do it?” I’d heard it all
before. I also knew what would happen next: G-Naveen would wait just long
enough for the excitement to die down before finding another member of the
audience to pick on. And he did. But this time it was a girl of fourteen.
Blond, very pretty, and her name was Callie.
“Oh, crap.” Callie Barlow? What
the heck was she doing at my grandpa’s show? I took a step back to fade into
the crowd, but knew it was too late. She’d seen me, and she was...smiling?
“Hello, little Calliope.
Visiting Seattle on a day as beautiful as you?” G-Naveen glanced at me and waggled
his eyebrows. He knew exactly who Callie was. She was that girl, the one I’ve liked since kindergarten.
“Yes, thanks.” Callie Barlow’s
face flushed red, embarrassed. Her eyes flashed in my direction briefly but
G-Naveen pushed on with his show.
“What is your heart’s desire,
my dear?” G-Naveen swept his hand through the air, indicating the world was
hers for the asking. I rolled my eyes, wishing Callie had never found her way
to the market that day. Then I saw who she was with--that evil Marla. They must
be visiting Marla’s mom, who lived in Seattle.
Callie hesitated, cheeks still
crimson. She and Marla collapsed in a fit of giggles before Marla pushed her
forward to answer. “I’ve always kind of liked emeralds,” Callie said quietly.
“Hmmmm...emeralds. Very nice
choice. One of my favorite gems, as you probably know.” G-Naveen made a show of
walking around the crowd, slowly making his way back to his table. He picked up
his bubble pipe from its stand between the two crystal formations, dipped it in
the solution on the table, and faced Callie and Marla once again. He placed the
mouthpiece between his lips.
I knew Grandpa was winding down
if he was pulling out his favorite pipe, so I moved toward Ravenna so I could
reel her in when the crowd broke up. My sister could get lost in her own house.
When I looked back, G-Naveen stood silently in the center of the equally silent
crowd. That was weird. I’d never seen him do that before.
He raised his hands into a
praying position but his eyes remained closed. A deep green bubble appeared in
the bowl of the pipe. It grew in size, the color more vibrant than I’d ever
seen him produce. When it reached a circumference of about five inches, it left
the pipe and began its journey toward Callie. G-Naveen sagged and braced one
hand on his magic table.
I’d never seen him do that
before, either.
The bubble floated straight for
Callie instead of dancing around like they usually do during grandpa’s shows,
but we soon found out why. When the bubble was close enough, Callie extended
her arm. It landed softly on her palm with a blip.
Everyone gasped.
An emerald the size of a walnut
lay in Callie’s outstretched hand.
