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111 Speaking ▇ Retelling the story in your own words Hello, class. This time we shall try to retell the story we have just read in our own words. A: Have you seen the film called The Cat That vanished? B: No, I haven’t. Tell me about it in English. A: The film begins at one night when there was very little traffic. B: It’s terrible. A: And the road where a man was standing was quiet，with comfortable houses，and trees along both sides of the road． B: What is the name of the man? A: He is Will by name. B: How was Will then? A: He was so tired that he could not think clearly but as he stood trying to decide what to do，he saw a cat. B: A cat? What a strange thing to be seen at night! A: She came out of a garden to where Will was standing. Will held out his hand, and the cat came up to him. Then she turned away and went across the road，towards the bushes just past the trees，and there she stopped． B: What about Will? What was he doing? A: Still watching. All of a sudden, Will saw the cat behave strangely. B: how did she behave? A: She put out a paw to pat something in the air in front of her， something that was invisible to Will．Then she leapt back，with her tail held up． B: Did Will know about cats? A: Yes, he did. Will knew cat behaviour and watched more carefully. The cat approached the place again. B: What kind of place is it? A: It is just an empty patch of grass between the trees and the bushes. And the cat patted the air once more. B: What came next? A: Again she leapt back，but less far and with less fear this time．After another few seconds，the cat stepped forward，and vanished． B: Unbelievable. A: Will blinked．Then he stood still，close to the nearest tree, as a truck passed by. B: What did Will do when it had gone past? A: He crossed the road, keeping his eyes on the place where the cat had vanished. B: Was it easy for him to find out about where the cat had gone? A: No, it wasn’t. It wasn’t easy at all. B: Why? A: Because there was nothing to really see. But when he came to the place and looked more closely, he saw it. B: The cat? A: Yes, the cat. But he could only see it from some positions. It looked as if someone had cut a patch out of the air, about two metres from the edge of the road. B: What did the patch look like? A: The patch was almost square in shape and less than a metre across. B: Was it visible? A: No, almost not. From most positions，It was nearly invisible，and it was completely invisible from behind． B: Where could you see it? A: You could only see it from the side nearest the road，and you couldn’t see it easily even from there. On the other side of the patch was exactly the same thing that was on this side: a patch of grass. B: The film is telling about an imagined story, I believe. A: But Will knew without any doubt that that patch of grass on the other side was in a different world B: I could go on with the story. Will couldn't possibly have said why. He knew it as strongly as he knew that fire burned and kindness was good. He was looking at something that was very alien. A: You are intelligent. B: And for that reason only, Will bent down and looked through. What he saw frightened him, but he didn't hesitate. A: Unbelievable! How strange it is that you could predict the story! B: Pushing his shopping bag through, Will climbed through the hole in the walls of this world and into another. A: You are right in all your prediction. Will was then standing under a line of tall trees. B: It’s my turn. Like the trees in his own town, they grew in a line along the road. A: But this was the centre of a wide road, and at the side of the road was a line of cafes and small shops, all completely silent and empty under a dark sky. B: The hot night had the scent of flowers and the salt smell of the sea. A: Will looked around carefully. B: Behind him the moon shone down over green hills, and on the slopes of these hills there were houses with rich gardens and an open park. A: Just beside him was that patch in the air. B: It was as difficult to see from this side as from the other, but definitely there． A: Bending to look through, he saw the road in his own town, his own world. B: How interesting it is to retell a story this way! A: Let’s go on. B: Ok. He, the Will, turned quickly away. A: Although he knew nothing at all about this world, it had to be better than the life he had just left. B: Feeling that he was dreaming but awake at the same time, he stood up and looked around for the cat, his guide. A: That was the end of the film. B: To know more about it, wait till we turn out its second part next year. A: Ha, ha, ha! ■ Reading and retelling a fantasy story You have done a very good job. Now read another short fantasy story entitled The Price of Power by Benjamin Anible, aged 13, Houghton, Michigan. And then try to retell it in your own words. The Price of Power “It won’t hurt much, will it?” Ransom asked nervously. “It will hurt as much as you let it,” an old yet deft woman responded. “Now take off your coat and stay awhile.” “Ah . . . where do I put it?” he asked. “On the back of your chair will work just fine, Ransom,” she answered. Ransom started to take off his coat before what the old woman had said hit him. How did she know my name? he thought. I don’t remember telling her my name. Do I know her? Ransom looked closely at the old woman’s body outlined against the flames of the forge. No. Ransom finished taking off his coat and draped it on the back of his chair. He looked around the old woman’s cottage. It was tidy for an Adget. Most of the time Adgets’ cottages were a mess. No one knew why. No one knew much about Adgets besides what they did. They gave people power. How and why was the question. They’re too mystical if you ask me. I wish there was some other way to get power, Ransom thought to himself. It is so blasted hot in this room! At the forge the old woman, the Adget, beat away at a dark piece of metal. Her face was red, but it was not because of the heat. She was used to that. It was the young man behind her. Already she had let her tongue slip. Had he noticed? Not that it would matter, she thought, he wouldn’t recognize me anyway. I wish she would hurry it up, Ransom thought. I paid a pretty penny for that Pricot she’s pounding. He squirmed in his seat and wiped the sweat off his brow. Hurry up! he shouted silently at the Adget. Ransom grew more and more impatient. But at last the Adget stopped pounding, opened a cabinet and drew out a needle. “Come here, young man; I will draw the blood now,” said the old woman. Ransom walked over to the forge. “How much will you take?” “Only enough.” The Adget moved away and prepared the needle. She put it into a small glass bottle filled with some type of clear fluid. She finished this, then walked over to Ransom. “You are ready?” she asked. “Yes,” Ransom barely squeaked. The Adget leaned over and pressed in the needle. Hours later, when Ransom next regained consciousness, his surroundings had changed a great deal. Instead of a thatched hay roof, a leafy forest canopy now provided shade from the sun. He lay there on the itchy leaf pile he’d been placed in until his head stopped spinning. He stepped away from the pile and brushed the leaves out of his clothes and hair. As he brushed, he noticed a leather cord around his neck. He pulled, and up came a dark metal medallion. “So,” Ransom grinned, “the old Adget finished it for me after all.” A smile grew on Ransom’s face as he hunched over and began to mutter a spell. He said a few short phrases, then threw his arms up and made a quick, grasping motion with his fingers. From his hands shot bright red flames. He held his arms up for a few moments, then brought them down in an arc. The two flames converged midway. As they did, they jolted like a crazed snake. Ransom was thrown back onto his shoulder blades. The red fire vanished. It took him a while get his wind back, but when he did he was still full of excitement. “I have power,” he whispered to himself. “Power! I’ve worked and I’ve studied for fifteen years and now I have power!” He turned and looked at the Adget’s cottage. “And it’s because of her. I must thank her.” Ransom headed toward the cottage. It would not take long. A short walk. His mind began to wander. He turned his thoughts back to home, to his three older brothers. They’re the reason I left, he thought. Well, I guess it’s not all because of them. I suppose I might have stayed after the raiders came if my brothers hadn’t split my share of Pa’s fortune among themselves. I might have stayed if I could have proven they’d cheated me, but no, the raiders burned my father’s will along with three quarters of the town. Yes, the raiders are why I left. Perhaps if they’d not taken my betrothed, Myra, I would have stayed. We were to be wed in only a week. I know I would not be here if she wasn’t taken. She worked at the smith. She was apprenticed to a blacksmith. Ransom raised his eyes from his feet. His fair mood had fled like the wind. And it certainly didn’t improve when he looked and saw he was no closer to the Adget’s cottage than when he started out. “Stupid cottage,” he muttered, and picked up his pace. It was an hour later that he collapsed in an exhausted heap. As he lay there, red-faced and sweating, some disturbing thoughts entered his head. “How?” he asked himself. “How is it possible to walk and walk to get to a location that should be just a few minutes away? Are my eyes giving out? Or am I going mad?” He glared at the cottage. “I must be going mad.” When the red of Ransom’s face had faded a bit and the sweat had dried off, he got up and once again took a glance at his formidable foe, the cottage. As he turned away a thought occurred to him: What if the Adget had cast a spell on her cottage that was keeping an image of it always in front of his eyes? That would make sense, he thought, and uttered a short, quick spell. The air around the cottage flickered and swayed. It was like the air over a fire. The haze disappeared and so did the cottage. Where it had been was now only a forest trail. Ransom stood still for a moment, staring at the air in front of him. Then he drew his sword and began attacking the younger trees and ferns. When a fair amount of forest around him had been obliterated, he lowered his sword, breathing hard. He turned to a huge pine he had not been able to cut down. “I won’t stand for it anymore!” he shouted at the tree, “I’m not going to be taken advantage of again. I’ve got power and I won’t stand for it now. That Adget took advantage of me and now she’s going to pay for it — with her life.” Ransom pointed his finger at the tree and a red bolt jumped out, blasting the tree to pieces at its base. Six miles away, inside her cottage, the Adget was gazing into the glowing embers of her fireplace. She reached over and put in another log, then blew. The fire shot up high into the chimney. There’s something in those flames tonight, she thought, something more than the usual dance of flame. She continued to look, and slowly, so slowly, the flames began to take shape. An image of a forest became clear, and a man walking through it. His face was fixed in a sneer, and there was a long shallow cut along his cheek. “Ransom,” whispered the Adget. The scene vanished, the flames turned light blue, and a new scene appeared. There was Ransom again, the same sneer on his face. But this time he was standing in front of an old woman. His hand rested on his sword. The Adget, sitting on her chair in front of the fire, saw her death in those eyes. She understood. The Adget quickly rose up from her chair, walked over to her desk and started to write. The moon, a mere sliver, was high in the midnight sky when Ransom, a little worse for wear with a large bruise on his shin and a long cut down his face, stumbled into the clearing that held the Adget’s cottage. He tripped and cursed before coming to the door, but caught himself and took a deep breath, then drew his sword. Inside the cottage the old woman walked over to the door and put her hand on the doorknob. As Ransom swung his sword at the door the old woman opened it. In flew Ransom. A look of shock was on his face, but it changed to anger when he saw the Adget. “Why have you returned, young man?” asked the Adget in her calm voice. “Why?” Ransom growled. “To pay you back for your fiendish trick.” “I played no trick on you, Ransom. But do tell, how will you kill me? Your magic will do nothing.” Ransom grew livid. He sneered. “Like this,” he whispered, then plunged his sword in the Adget’s heart. The old woman convulsed once, then sank to the floor. As her head fell to the ground a blue flame grew around her heart. Ransom’s sword shivered and the blue flame raced up it into his hands. Violet flames ran over his body and vanished. Ransom stooped down, black clouding his eyes for a moment, then stood back up. The old woman’s body caught his eye. He stared transfixed. A change was taking place. The many creases and wrinkles in her face were sinking, smoothing. Her hair was losing its gray and taking on a golden-brown tinge. The change was slow but sure, and when it finished a young woman lay on the floor. It was Ransom’s fiancée, Myra. Ransom knelt beside her and wept. When there were no more tears he still knelt and kissed her face. Standing up, he dumbly wandered around the cottage. On the desk he found a letter which she had written before he came. In it Myra’s ghostly thin handwriting explained what had become of her after the raiders came; how she’d become an Adget; and at the end, an apology: I am sorry you had to learn what the price of power is by my death. I wish it had not come to this, but you were too angry to learn any other way. So, unless we meet again in the heavens, this is my final farewell. Ransom stumbled from the desk and out the cottage door. Once at the end of the clearing he raised his arms, muttered a word, and the cottage burst into flame. Turning from the blaze, he slowly walked into the woods. A: Have you read the story of The Price of Power B: No, I have not. Could you retell it to me? In your own words. A: … Writing Learning how to write a best selling fantasy story To begin with let us have a discussion on how to write a best selling fantasy story. I think the following ten tips are important. 1. Create a main character. 2. Create a Quest. 3. Create a Motley Bunch of Companions. 4. Create a Wise but Useless Guide. 5. Create the Land 6. Create the Enemy 7. Make it long. 8. Skip the hard parts. 9. Lead up to a cataclysmic battle. 10. Kill almost everybody. ■Writing your own fantasy stories The Swamp by Shoshana Leffler, age 11, Bronx, New York Flying in and out of the clouds, a black hawk circles the swamp. He doesn’t make a sound, but rides the currents like a king silently surveying his land. I tuck my coat closer around me. The hawk is still fresh in my mind. He seems to be scrutinizing me and watching my every move. His black body stands out against the sky. But when he goes away the color in the sky also changes to a darker shade. Now that he is gone everything is quiet. But I know it will not be that way for long. It’s very still where I sit, at the edge of the swamp on a rotting log. The log is rough and jagged where the ridges run on the gray bark. Empty-looking tangled branches of a hemlock seem to form a crisscross pattern. In between the branches grow dry leaning grasses. The delicate branches look like snowflakes and I think of winter coming to the swamp. Near me hay-scented ferns are turning yellow and brown. They droop lower and lower toward the ground, waiting for the day when they will lie fallen under hard ice and snow. That day will come, but for now I rub my hands on the soft leaves. They leave a summer smell on my hands, a smell of freshness and warmth. Tiny white and brown mushrooms grow in patches in the shade. These dwarf-sized mushrooms with round heads seem to be hiding an endless secret. They keep me deep in thought. All of a sudden I hear: K-knock-knock-knock Eh-heh Eh! (loudly) Uh-Uh E-E-E The swamp has woken up. When I turn to find more birds, they all disappear. They always seem to be right behind me, but whenever I turn to look they are gone. Right and left I turn, up and down, but in vain. There are no birds. Then I see a blur of color flashing into the swamp. Two round birds fly right by me, spreading their little black wings and squawking a childish squawk. I see them disappear into the brownish-green rushes which grow long and curl at their ends. What are they so busy doing? I head quickly into the swamp, following my squawking companions. I take a step into the swamp, but I can take no more because water slops into my hiking boots. The birds are lost to me while I stand stuck, moving slowly about. I reach up, spread my arms and look abroad. Then I trudge back to the log, sullen and quiet. I sit down and lean into the prickly bushes. Eh-heh Eh! Eh-heh-heh Eh! Eh! I close my eyes and dream. Uh-Uh Uh-Uh I rub my cheek against smooth feathers. A great sensation goes through me. It feels like the Yo-Yo ride at the amusement park, exciting and thrilling. I hold on tight to the warm feathery body. The sun is shining on my back. Up here it doesn’t feel so cold, although the wind whips at my hair. With a satisfied breath I open my eyes and scream. We are whirling toward the ground at a fantastic speed. Colors are spinning around me, rusty reds, deep blues, yellows, purples and greens. Then we come to a stop on the soggy ground of the swamp. Am I dreaming? Now the birds are searching for food. Up close they look so different. The fat one has already shaken me off. He has little beady eyes the size of pebbles. His feathers seem to be popping out as he walks with his head in the air. The smaller one is plump but walks lightly like a child. They are ignoring me. They are talking about food. Deep in the swamp lies a hole where blueberries are collected. They stay there all winter, waiting for when the birds will return and eat. Just then a fat cricket struts by. E-E-E “Him!” squawks the fat bird, glaring with his beady eyes. “He made us starve last year.” “The snow was falling white and soft and my belly wasn’t full,” adds the smaller one. “I remember the taste of hunger,” they squawk and chirp and yell. “My proud feathers fell out,” the fat one remarks, rubbing his belly. “It was awfully cold too. A bitter wind . . .” I notice how awful the birds smell, how their feathers are falling out and how slowly they walk. I feel like the Yo-Yo ride has squeaked to a stop, and when I reach into my pocket I notice that there is no more money left. K-knock knock knock E-E-E I wake up. I see the reddish-green blueberry bushes. The oval leaves grow in a spiral. In between the leaves I catch the deep blue sky. Patches of light peek through the clouds, creating a colorful quilt on the reds and yellows of the swamp. The light becomes duller and the wind becomes sharper. I spot a lone red leaf quivering on a tall leaning bush. I am feeling cold and I want to go home. 111