 Enchanted Runner Kimberley Griffiths Little Early Young Adult Published Hard Cover 160 pages ISBN 0380976234 Click here to buy this book. Read an Excerpt Kendall believes in magic. He can feel it when he runs. And since his mother's death a year ago, the urge has become too big to explain. During her illness, Kendall ran to save her. Now he runs to retrieve the memory of her face. Sometimes, too, he imagines himself running like the warriors in Mom's stories, Acoma Runners returning to his mother's native pueblo tribe, to the cliffs of Acoma...Sky City...a place she promised they would visit together when he turned twelve. As Kendall prepares for a summer-long adventure spent criss-crossing the states in his dad's semi, a letter arrives from his mother's grandfather, beckoning him to Acoma. He feels cheated, until it occurs to him that his mom might somehow be there, in Sky City. He's twelve, after all, and his mother always kept her promises. Drawn into his great-grandfather's world of secrets and sacred ceremony, Kendall discovers that the magic he feels when he runs is a proud legacy, one linked to a way of life as ancient and mysterious as the earth itself. In the process of trying to recover his mother, Kendall reclaims his worldly and spiritual heritage, in a moving story of one boy's search for identity and belonging. Excerpt Kendall knew magic existed in the universe. He could feel it whenever he ran. Some strange kind of invisible power that swirled in the air, luring him like the chocolate fudge cake his mother used to have waiting for him on the kitchen table after school. Finally, the forces of magic pulled so strongly, Kendall just gave up walking. He ran everywhere. Each day he jogged the halls between the classroom and the cafeteria or the library, then sprinted home after school. And every afternoon that unseen power wrapped itself around Kendall's feet during the sixth-grade races. He zoomed over the blacktop, passing all the other kids in a blur of shorts and sneakers until he was alone. Just him and the magic. Sometimes, he'd close his eyes and try to grab it, but it always stayed just out of reach. So elusive he couldn't figure out what it was. So tantalizing he thought he'd never stop. When Mr. Crawford blasted the whistle, Kendall braked too hard on his Nikes and nearly fell right onto the asphalt. Swiping at his hot face with the tail of his T-shirt, he looked over his shoulder, and his heart sank. The 50-yard dash had ended hundreds of feet behind him. The rest of the class laughed and a couple of kids pointed at him. "There goes the running maniac," someone said across the blacktop. "Doesn't know when to stop," another voice added. There were more giggles. Kendall had been called a running maniac all year. He never seemed to see the finish line and he never stopped, even when the race was over. He couldn't explain it. Something pushed him forward. A slice of enchantment that sped up his feet even when he crossed the finish line. At times like that he could have sworn he was running faster than any world-champion runner ever had. As fast as a wild horse galloped. It was weird. Where did this strange enchantment come from? Why had it gotten even stronger, now that Mom was gone? A hot breeze lifted his hair and Kendall could see a horse in his mind, a beautiful shimmering dream horse running over the desert. And he was next to it. The image reminded him of the stories Mom used to tell late at night when he couldn't sleep. A story about warriors crossing the desert on their horses, coming home to the cliffs of Acoma, Mom's native tribe. But the stories had just become dreams now. Kendall had never ridden a horse in his life, and he'd never even seen Acoma, except in his dreams. But a wild horse was fast, and wild horses didn't have to stop at finish lines. "Okay, kids, last round," Mr. Crawford called. "The final bell's about to ring." The next heat lined up and Kendall took a spot at the end. Mr. Crawford blew the whistle for the race to begin, just as the three o'clock bell rang. The last bell of the school year. The line-up of racers fell apart as kids hollered for joy and streamed across the playground, heading for the yellow buses. Only Kendall took off, pulled by the mysterious, magical cord. "Hey, Drennan! You can stop now," the teacher cried. "Everybody is gone, there's no one to race." Kendall turned in his tracks and grinned, running backwards into the field and hoping he didn't fall into a tumbleweed. "I don't need anybody to run against," he yelled, the power of the magic making him talk crazy. The hot May sun burned through his shirt as Kendall rounded the school buildings and headed for the road that led home. There weren't any sidewalks, just a dirt shoulder off the uneven asphalt. He jumped through ragweed and piles of old cottonwood leaves. It was a good day. The last day of school always was. On Monday he and Dad and Brett were going to leave in the eighteen-wheel semi-truck for the whole summer. Brett, who was seventeen, had gone on long hauls during past summers. This year Kendall got to go with them. Just the three of them in the rig, far away for months, stopping at truck stops, going to Disneyland. Kendall poured on the speed, cutting over to the ditch bank. The muddy Rio Grande rippled behind giant cottonwood trees. He crossed the ditch along a homemade plank bridge, passing scattered houses and a dairy farm. After the stretch of corn and alfalfa fields, he made the turn onto his own narrow, dusty road. Kendall tore down the slope of the trailer park, gravel flying with each step, magic pouring over him like a waterfall. He swiped at his face and mouth, tasting fresh sweat. Crashing into the chain-link fence, Kendall's legs trembled with the frenzy of his pace. He leaned over, gasping in great gulps of air, and felt the magic melt away. He'd never made the connection, no matter how fast and hard he ran—never grasped the cords that tugged at him every day. Kendall tried to steady himself, overwhelmed by the power of it all. Nobody saw how much he ran. Hundred-yard dashes at school were nothing. His real running had become a secret too big to explain, too important to share. Last year, the sicker Mom got, the faster Kendall ran home from school. He began timing himself the minute the three o'clock bell rang. When he burst in the front door, Mom was always dressed and reading a book in the rocking chair, waiting for him even if she was very tired. "You're getting to be quite the track star," she had said one day, looking at him curiously. When Kendall drew closer, she told him, "My father ran when he was young. For a special ceremony at Old Acoma." Kendall wanted her to tell him more, but she shook her head, tears filling her eyes. The sicker she became, the harder it was for her to talk about Acoma and her memories. All she said was, "Whenever you run, Kendall—run with everything inside your heart." As Kendall gripped the fence, an image of waist-length black hair clouded his mind. Memories of his mother made him dizzy. Right before she died, the household became crazy with nurses and people bringing in food. Kendall tried to tell Mom about the magical waves that pulled him across the ground until he felt like he was flying. He was sure his mother could explain the feelings he had, but she was pulled away by the home-care nurse for shots and medicine. The living room had become like a hospital with his mother in a bed that moved up and down by remote control. She made an effort to raise her head off the pillow. "There is a place, my son," she whispered as the nurse prepared the needle. "A place that has all the answers." It was clear she hadn't understood him. By then, chances to talk to her alone were rare. And that opportunity turned out to be his last one. Copyright Kimberley Griffiths Little 1999 |
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