The Blue Roan Child by Jamieson Findlay; Scholastic, Inc.: New York, 2oo4; $16.95 Imagine this: you are an orphan and you work in a horse stable owned by Kind Hulvere. A fierce wild horse and her two colts are brought to the stable. Then the two colts are stolen. It is now up to you, with the help of the wild horse, to save her colts from the powerful Lord Ran. Are you up to the challenge? Well, Syeira was! With nothing but the shirt on her back and the wild horse Arwin she set off to save the colts. Along the way, she and Arwin meet many friends, a few dangerous foes, and tons of adventure! When I first looked at this book, I knew I was going to enjoy it because it was about horses. I have been riding horses for about six years and I love horses and horse books. After the first few pages I was hooked, because The Blue Roan Child combined horses with mystery, magic, adventure, and wonderful writing. One of my favorite parts is when Syeira and Arwin have to travel through the Forest of Deire. In it they meet a man named Sir Gemynd who drinks a concoction made out of a plant called Pale Madeleine. The Pale Madeleine makes him live in memories. Syeira eats some of this memory plant and she sees her mother’s little yellow bird and hears her mother weeping. But she can’t find her mother, and the bird disappears. They are lost with the Pale Madeleine. They are lost in the past. That part made me think.. What would it be like to stop living in the present and live only in memories? If I was Syeira, would I be tempted to try some Pale Madeleine? Would Syeira ever be the same? I could understand why Syeira would want to eat the Pale Madeleine. She longed for the mother she could barely remember. That made me think about how lucky I am to have both of my parents alive today. I have never felt anything like Syeira’s yearning for her mother, and I am thankful. Even so, the Pale Madeleine was not good. It made Syeira sick and delayed her from her mission. To me, Pale Madeleine symbolizes temptation to do what’s wrong. Even though doing the wrong thing might seem fun or easy at the time, it will always come back to hurt you and will distract you from what you need to do. In this story you can see all sorts of symbols. For instance, I think the yellow bird is a symbol of Syeira’s mother’s love. It gives Syeira strength and courage. Flying horses also appear in this book. I think they are a symbol of Syeira’s dreams, and when they fly to attack King Ran’s city, Syeira’s dreams are flying along with them. The Weerlings, horses damaged by war, represent how horrible war really is. And Arwin. Arwin was Syeira’s way out of a lonely childhood. I think she is a symbol of the type of freedom one can only have galloping on a horse, flying as if you were riding one of Syeira’s dreams. The Blue Roan Child has a satisfying ending in which Syeira finds out what she is meant to do with her life. Everything adds up to a believable and involving story that will draw you in. I loved The Blue Roan Child, and I definitely recommend it to anyone who likes horses, adventure, or just plain good stories. Reina Gattuso, 12Milford, New Jersey
May/June 2005
Maikua
Once there was a strong woman who was great at hunting, fishing, and all the other manly things. But she didn’t have the patience to learn the delicate art of sewing baskets, dyeing clothes, or any of the things the women did. Her name was Maikua. Maikua had flowing black hair, and brown eyes and skin. None of the men liked Maikua. When she went hunting with them, they would say, “We don’t need your help. Why don’t you go home.” Maikua never listened to these men. She would go out and catch as many birds as she could carry. When they got home, the other men and women would fill their stomachs with her catch and leave the scraps for her. The other women didn’t think much of her either. Whenever she stayed home when the men were hunting (which wasn’t very often), the women would say, “Why aren’t you out hunting? Maybe if you tried harder you could catch a piece of fur.” Maikua would just ignore them, and go on shooting her bows and arrows at a practice target. One day Maikua went out fishing. She caught eight fish, and put them in her basket. When she returned to the village, though, the usual commotion was no more. In fact, she couldn’t see anybody for miles. “Is anybody here?” she called out. The response was, “Is anybody here?” It was just an echo. Maikua realized that everybody had left. She went back to her hut and ate the fresh fish. Then she thought. “Maybe I should go to the mystic mountain,” she said to herself. She set out at dawn. The mountain reached out over the treetops. Maikua started walking. She swam across a river. She swung on vines and she leapt over roots. Finally the mountain lay before her: glowing green trees, gray rocks, and pure white snow. Maikua got out her spear. She sighted a mountain lion in the distance. She crept up the mountainside, and then hid behind a boulder so the lion couldn’t see her. She took a piece of meat out of her basket, and put it out in front of the boulder. The lion ran over and clamped its teeth around the meat. As soon as he did so Maikua had the spear through his head. Maikua had a good lunch and then was on her way. When Maikua got to the top of the mountain, she found a bear. The bear gave her a cup made out of leaves. The bear said, “Drink the water that lies in the cup.” As she drank, a stairway started forming. When the last drop of water was finished, the stairway reached all the way to the tip of the clouds. The bear motioned for her to climb the stairs. When Maikua got to the top of the stairs, she couldn’t speak. Not just because there was a village before her; but because in this village, she saw women coming home with fish and deer, and men sitting in their huts weaving baskets and taking care of the young ones. When the last drop of water was finished, the stairway reached all the way to the tip of the clouds A woman walked over to Maikua. “Who are you?” Maikua asked. “I am Korto, the head of our village,” the woman answered. “Let me show you around.” Korto showed Maikua her hut and the meat storage room and more. After the tour Maikua asked, “Why are things so different here?” “This is the way it has always been,” Korto said, “for as long as I can remember. Now you should get some sleep. You look very tired.” Maikua walked slowly back to her hut. She was thinking about this strange yet wonderful village as she climbed through the door of the hut and curled up on her bed. After a week Maikua was already a hero. The men adored her, and the women looked up to her. She filled the meat storage room with fish and game she had caught, and was happier than she had ever been. But a few weeks later, she announced that it was time to leave. The night before Maikua was to leave there was a big celebration. The finest meats were prepared, and toasts were made. There was singing and dancing. The noise was very powerful. At the end of the evening, Korto called everyone to attention. Everyone stood in a circle, facing Korto. She sat straight in her chair, and then said, “I think we owe Maikua a wish.” Everyone cheered. Maikua was stunned. “What is your wish?” Korto asked. Maikua thought for a moment, then exclaimed, “I know what I want. I want to never run out of arrows.” “Everlasting arrows, eh. I’ll see what I can do,” Korto smiled. Then she pointed her finger at Maikua and a bag appeared on Maikua’s shoulder—a bag filled with arrows. Maikua thanked everybody and went back to her hut. She went to sleep. But around midnight she snuck out of bed with the bag on her shoulders, and headed back down the stairway out of the clouds. When she came out of the clouds back into her own world, the first thing she saw was smoke coming out of the treetops. Maikua ran as fast as she could down the mountain and into a forest. She came into a clearing and saw people. They were her people, her town in rags, sitting around a fire. When the people saw her they were so happy they crowded around her, hugging her. “You’re back!” they shouted. “What’s happening?” Maikua asked. A man came up to her and said, “We need you. Your skills keep us alive.” Maikua didn’t know what to say. She was so happy that they had accepted her. All the women and the men apologized and welcomed Maikua back. From then on, hunting was valued in men and in women. Josh Miller, 10 Portland, Oregon Laura
Samantha and the Stag
A white tail bobbed in the bushes and Samantha’s ice-skate skidded to a messy stop. The girl made no sudden moves. Slowly, she lifted her head and took a cautious step towards the edge of the pond, which lay in the center of the pasture. The animal before her, a cinnamon-colored stag, stood motionless. She wished to gape openly, to move towards him and stroke his flawless coat, fondle his large ears, touch his immense antlers and follow him wherever he would lead her. She felt somehow connected to the creature, and wanted to be nearer to him. Instead, for fear of frightening the animal, she tore her gaze from his form and advanced another step, gliding smoothly towards the edge of the ice. The deer looked as though he was preparing to bound away, but he could not seem to decide whether or not to stay or go. He stood, frozen for a few more moments of indecision, swaying one way as if to say “I will leave,” and the other way as if to say “I will go.” Samantha, trying to avoid looking at the creature and afraid to move any further in his direction, clicked the blade of her ice-skate on the ice. The deer turned his delicate head and shook his antlers vigorously at her. The one small crime she had committed, the clicking of her ice-skate blade, had led him to a decision. He pivoted towards the woods, springing over the field’s rear gate. Trotting a few graceful, prancing steps, he halted and swung around to face her, willing her towards him, pawing the ground for emphasis. She knew she was to go with him, follow him. He wanted to take her somewhere, and the connection she felt to him was strong. She ripped her focus away, briefly reminding the panicking part of her, the part of her that said the buck would not stay, that she would return soon. If she was wrong, the deer would have fled by the time she got back and she could forget she had ever seen him, or even pretend he had been a figment of her infamous wild imagination. She knew she was to go with him, follow him Purposefully, she strode up to the fence on the opposite edge of the pond enclosure, climbing over it and stepping into her paddock. A spotted pony with mischief in his eyes stared at her plaintively. He was looking for food or a treat and saw no reason he should be subtle about his begging. Sam ignored him and gathered a bridle and riding hat off hooks in the small stable. She put the bridle on, fastening the straps and buckles with the ease of many years of practice. Then she fed the pony a sugar cube from her slushy pocket. He eyed the sugar analytically, and extracted it from her palm. Apparently he did not think highly of wet sugar. Carefully, she walked him to the place she had last seen the stag. There he was, holding his head gallantly, as if posing for a photograph he had waited ages to have taken. Sam got as close as she dared and swiftly mounted her pony. This was enough to startle the buck and off he dashed, leaving a trail behind him as he made his way through the stiff grasses of winter. Sam felt an urge she could not control. She had to follow him! The connection she felt to the animal strained, and, with a wave of her arms, Samantha and her pony were chasing after him. They hightailed it over the field fence and raced across the next pasture, following the trail the stag left. Astonishingly, the buck allowed the pair to get increasingly closer. Soon they were inching up alongside him, getting nearer every second. Finally, when they were running nose to nose, the deer distanced himself slightly. Samantha took the hint. The deer did want his own margin of personal space, but did want them to follow him. Sam understood and continued along peaceably behind him. She had a creeping sensation, however, that the comfortable pace wouldn’t last long. Soon enough, she found her unpleasant assumption to be true. She, the pony, and the buck were headed directly for a frozen stream. This posed great danger for the threesome. The stream could not be trusted with their weight! Obviously the deer did not see it, and even with much patience and an enormous amount of coaxing, her pony refused to slow. She wanted to explain the danger, but couldn’t! Her pony was dipping into a peril he could not see, a peril he could not even acknowledge, as he didn’t know it was there! In a panic, Sam yanked on the reins, snapping them from side to side. With her pony’s attention captured, she leaned back and dragged her reins above her head, lifting her pony into a half-rear; the only sensible way to help him recover his footing and keep him out of trouble. The buck, seeing the stream only as he came upon it, made a scrambling effort to stop but failed. His front legs slid off the bank and onto the surface that was the frozen creek. His haunches groped through the snow, searching for a grip, but, over all of the protests of the rest of his body, momentum slid his rear onto the ice as well. Now he had to muster all his strength and any balance he possessed to stand. With a strangling grunt and a heave he was on all fours once more. Before Sam could take note of what was happening, the stag was racing along the creek. With much splaying of his legs and many close calls, the buck made his way along the stream, somehow managing to stay upright. The girl, astonished at these proceedings, sprang into action. She snapped her reins from left to right and achieved a quicker pace. The clever
