Items related to Islands of the Black Moon (Dark Moon Chronicles)
Now that you have reached the magical age of 11, it is time for your inheritance. . . .
So begins the note Lila da Gama receives from a distant aunt, and so begins an adventure that will take Lila much farther than Tiger Lily, her aunt’s crumbling estate. She’ll travel to another world, the Islands of the Black Moon, the place where Lila suspects her father disappeared six years earlier. There she must face terrifying creatures, including a beautiful but evil sorceress, who are all after one thing–Lila’s inheritance. Lila refuses to relinquish her precious birthright, until the sorceress says the six words that Lila cannot resist: I know where your father is.
With a little magic, a little science, and a lot of courage, as well as help from an island boy, this spunky heroine sets off to change her family’s fortune and bring her father home.
So begins the note Lila da Gama receives from a distant aunt, and so begins an adventure that will take Lila much farther than Tiger Lily, her aunt’s crumbling estate. She’ll travel to another world, the Islands of the Black Moon, the place where Lila suspects her father disappeared six years earlier. There she must face terrifying creatures, including a beautiful but evil sorceress, who are all after one thing–Lila’s inheritance. Lila refuses to relinquish her precious birthright, until the sorceress says the six words that Lila cannot resist: I know where your father is.
With a little magic, a little science, and a lot of courage, as well as help from an island boy, this spunky heroine sets off to change her family’s fortune and bring her father home.
"synopsis" may belong to another edition of this title.
About the Author:
Erica Farber was a children’s book editor, and J. R. Sansevere is a longtime veteran of the children’s entertainment industry.
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.:
Chapter 1
Five years later . . .
It all started the day of the science fair. I was really psyched because I was hoping to win first prize. Last year I made a lemon battery by sticking pennies and paper clips into three lemons and hooking up some wires, and then wham, those lemons generated enough voltage to light up a very small lightbulb. It was pretty cool. But Peter Peterson, the principal's son and my archrival, beat me. He made singing glasses by putting different amounts of water in a bunch of glasses, rubbing vinegar around the edges, and creating notes. He played the school song, and even though one of his glasses broke, he still won. But this year I was really hoping to beat him.
When I got to school, I went straight to the auditorium where everybody was setting up their projects. It looked like the usual--spiderweb tracings, diagrams of molecules, ant farms. I was so busy checking out the competition, I bumped right into someone.
"Excuse you, da Gama," sneered Peter Peterson, his squinty brown eyes fixed on my shopping bag. "Your project in the bag?" Before I could answer, he continued. "Well, don't get your hopes up, because my project is gonna blow yours away." Then he laughed as if he had said the funniest thing. "For real."
"Whatever," I replied as if I couldn't care less. "If you don't mind, I've got things to do."
I pushed past him to my table, where Sarah Jane Baker was peering glumly at her ant farm.
"What's the matter, Sarah Jane?" I asked.
"Look, Lila," she said, pointing.
Her farm was littered with dead bodies, and the ants had done almost no tunneling. She obviously hadn't realized that red and black ants do not get along. I was trying to think of something to say to cheer her up when Peter Peterson showed up at our table and began setting up. Just my luck.
As I took my project out of the shopping bag, I watched Peterson out of the corner of my eye. Actually, his project did look pretty good. He'd made a volcano out of clay and chicken wire, with a toilet-paper tube stuck in the middle.
"You don't stand a chance against me with that," Peterson said, giving my project a nasty grin that revealed the railroad tracks in his mouth.
"We'll see," I said sweetly, as if I couldn't be bothered. "By the way, Peterson, make sure you add the vinegar to the baking soda real slowly. Otherwise you're gonna have a real mess on your hands."
"Shut up, da Gama," Peterson snapped. "I don't need help from some dumb girl."
"You can't say I didn't warn you," I retorted with a shrug. But inside I was fuming. How dare he call me a dumb girl?
"May I have your attention, please?" said Mr. Peterson, the principal, tapping on the microphone. "I can see you've all done some fine work. So let the science fair begin, and may the best man win."
Mrs. Cole, our homeroom teacher, tapped Mr. Peterson on the shoulder and whispered something in his ear.
"I mean," said Mr. Peterson with a huge, phony smile, "may the best person win!"
Like father, like son, I thought, watching as the judges began to thread their way among the tables. I gave my project one last look. It was a telescope I'd made out of two pieces of rolled-up black cardboard, one inside the other. I had fitted a convex lens on one end, the kind of lens that curves outward like the outside of a spoon. I had put another convex lens on the other end. What was tricky was adjusting the lengths of the tubes to make an image come into focus. Next to the telescope was the report I'd written about Galileo Galilei. He's the Italian astronomer who perfected the telescope way back in 1609. He used one concave lens, though, plus a convex one. In case you're interested, concave is the opposite of convex. It's the kind of lens that curves inward like the inside of a spoon. Too bad for old Galileo that he hadn't figured out that two convex lenses work way better.
Before I knew it, Mr. Peterson was at our table examining my telescope, the judges right behind him.
"Good work, Miss da Gama," said Mr. Peterson. "Imagine what it must have been like to be the first man to look into the heavens and find new stars. Amazing!"
"Actually, the most amazing thing Galileo discovered was that the earth was not at the center of the universe, the way everyone else believed it was," I said before I could stop myself. "He found four new planets that were revolving around a bright star, which he figured out was really the planet Jupiter and its four moons. So then he realized that the earth couldn't be the center of the universe, something nobody back then wanted to believe. So he had to appear before the Inquisition, where he was branded a heretic, and then he had to spend the rest of his life under house arrest."
No one said anything for a minute.
"How interesting, Miss da Gama," commented one of the judges, making a note on her pad.
After that, the group moved on to Peter. He might have had a chance, but he did exactly what I'd warned him not to do. He poured the vinegar into the toilet-paper tube with this big, dramatic flourish instead of dribbling it in nice and slowly. The next thing he knew, the volcano exploded all over the judges. No one likes vinegar much anyway, but when it's all over your clothes, it's pretty disgusting.
When we all gathered to hear the winners, I was thrilled--I won first prize and Peterson came in second.
I was feeling pretty good as I went up onstage to receive my trophy. Peterson was standing right next to me, and before I knew it, he'd shoved his freckly face right next to mine and whispered in my ear, "You only won because they feel sorry for you."
"Wh-what?" I sputtered.
"It's true," continued Peterson under his breath. "My dad told me. Everybody feels bad for you because your dad's dead."
"He is not!" I yelled. "Shut up, Peterson! You're just a sore loser!"
All eyes swiveled toward me, and Mr. Peterson's mouth dropped open in surprise. You can kind of figure what happened next. I had to apologize to Peter Peterson in front of the whole school. On my way home, I tried to look on the bright side. I mean, I had won the science fair, and that was the most important thing, wasn't it?
When I got home, I did my homework first, the way I always do. After that, I went out to the mailbox to get the mail. Since it was almost summer, it was still light out, but I could see Venus shining almost directly above me. A lot of people think Venus is a star because it's so bright, which is why they call it the evening star, but it's really a planet. Anyway, as I stood there in front of the mailbox, I got the strangest feeling, like something weird was going to happen.
When I opened the mailbox, something did. There was a postcard with my name on it, written in spidery, old-fashioned script. It was from my great-aunt Athena, and it was an invitation to spend the summer at Tiger Lily, the falling-apart old hotel where she's lived since long before I was born. I was only ever there once, ages ago. My heart started beating really fast and my stomach did a major flip-flop, but after I read the postcard, I knew I had to go.
Dear Lila da Gama,
Now that you have reached the magical age of eleven, it's time for your inheritance. Come to Tiger Lily for the summer.
In haste,
Great-aunt Athena
No "Hello, how are you?", no "Hope to see you soon." Just that totally strange invitation.
As soon as my mom got home, I told her about the science fair, except the part about apologizing to Peter Peterson, and I showed her my ribbon. Then I handed her the postcard from Great-aunt Athena.
Five years later . . .
It all started the day of the science fair. I was really psyched because I was hoping to win first prize. Last year I made a lemon battery by sticking pennies and paper clips into three lemons and hooking up some wires, and then wham, those lemons generated enough voltage to light up a very small lightbulb. It was pretty cool. But Peter Peterson, the principal's son and my archrival, beat me. He made singing glasses by putting different amounts of water in a bunch of glasses, rubbing vinegar around the edges, and creating notes. He played the school song, and even though one of his glasses broke, he still won. But this year I was really hoping to beat him.
When I got to school, I went straight to the auditorium where everybody was setting up their projects. It looked like the usual--spiderweb tracings, diagrams of molecules, ant farms. I was so busy checking out the competition, I bumped right into someone.
"Excuse you, da Gama," sneered Peter Peterson, his squinty brown eyes fixed on my shopping bag. "Your project in the bag?" Before I could answer, he continued. "Well, don't get your hopes up, because my project is gonna blow yours away." Then he laughed as if he had said the funniest thing. "For real."
"Whatever," I replied as if I couldn't care less. "If you don't mind, I've got things to do."
I pushed past him to my table, where Sarah Jane Baker was peering glumly at her ant farm.
"What's the matter, Sarah Jane?" I asked.
"Look, Lila," she said, pointing.
Her farm was littered with dead bodies, and the ants had done almost no tunneling. She obviously hadn't realized that red and black ants do not get along. I was trying to think of something to say to cheer her up when Peter Peterson showed up at our table and began setting up. Just my luck.
As I took my project out of the shopping bag, I watched Peterson out of the corner of my eye. Actually, his project did look pretty good. He'd made a volcano out of clay and chicken wire, with a toilet-paper tube stuck in the middle.
"You don't stand a chance against me with that," Peterson said, giving my project a nasty grin that revealed the railroad tracks in his mouth.
"We'll see," I said sweetly, as if I couldn't be bothered. "By the way, Peterson, make sure you add the vinegar to the baking soda real slowly. Otherwise you're gonna have a real mess on your hands."
"Shut up, da Gama," Peterson snapped. "I don't need help from some dumb girl."
"You can't say I didn't warn you," I retorted with a shrug. But inside I was fuming. How dare he call me a dumb girl?
"May I have your attention, please?" said Mr. Peterson, the principal, tapping on the microphone. "I can see you've all done some fine work. So let the science fair begin, and may the best man win."
Mrs. Cole, our homeroom teacher, tapped Mr. Peterson on the shoulder and whispered something in his ear.
"I mean," said Mr. Peterson with a huge, phony smile, "may the best person win!"
Like father, like son, I thought, watching as the judges began to thread their way among the tables. I gave my project one last look. It was a telescope I'd made out of two pieces of rolled-up black cardboard, one inside the other. I had fitted a convex lens on one end, the kind of lens that curves outward like the outside of a spoon. I had put another convex lens on the other end. What was tricky was adjusting the lengths of the tubes to make an image come into focus. Next to the telescope was the report I'd written about Galileo Galilei. He's the Italian astronomer who perfected the telescope way back in 1609. He used one concave lens, though, plus a convex one. In case you're interested, concave is the opposite of convex. It's the kind of lens that curves inward like the inside of a spoon. Too bad for old Galileo that he hadn't figured out that two convex lenses work way better.
Before I knew it, Mr. Peterson was at our table examining my telescope, the judges right behind him.
"Good work, Miss da Gama," said Mr. Peterson. "Imagine what it must have been like to be the first man to look into the heavens and find new stars. Amazing!"
"Actually, the most amazing thing Galileo discovered was that the earth was not at the center of the universe, the way everyone else believed it was," I said before I could stop myself. "He found four new planets that were revolving around a bright star, which he figured out was really the planet Jupiter and its four moons. So then he realized that the earth couldn't be the center of the universe, something nobody back then wanted to believe. So he had to appear before the Inquisition, where he was branded a heretic, and then he had to spend the rest of his life under house arrest."
No one said anything for a minute.
"How interesting, Miss da Gama," commented one of the judges, making a note on her pad.
After that, the group moved on to Peter. He might have had a chance, but he did exactly what I'd warned him not to do. He poured the vinegar into the toilet-paper tube with this big, dramatic flourish instead of dribbling it in nice and slowly. The next thing he knew, the volcano exploded all over the judges. No one likes vinegar much anyway, but when it's all over your clothes, it's pretty disgusting.
When we all gathered to hear the winners, I was thrilled--I won first prize and Peterson came in second.
I was feeling pretty good as I went up onstage to receive my trophy. Peterson was standing right next to me, and before I knew it, he'd shoved his freckly face right next to mine and whispered in my ear, "You only won because they feel sorry for you."
"Wh-what?" I sputtered.
"It's true," continued Peterson under his breath. "My dad told me. Everybody feels bad for you because your dad's dead."
"He is not!" I yelled. "Shut up, Peterson! You're just a sore loser!"
All eyes swiveled toward me, and Mr. Peterson's mouth dropped open in surprise. You can kind of figure what happened next. I had to apologize to Peter Peterson in front of the whole school. On my way home, I tried to look on the bright side. I mean, I had won the science fair, and that was the most important thing, wasn't it?
When I got home, I did my homework first, the way I always do. After that, I went out to the mailbox to get the mail. Since it was almost summer, it was still light out, but I could see Venus shining almost directly above me. A lot of people think Venus is a star because it's so bright, which is why they call it the evening star, but it's really a planet. Anyway, as I stood there in front of the mailbox, I got the strangest feeling, like something weird was going to happen.
When I opened the mailbox, something did. There was a postcard with my name on it, written in spidery, old-fashioned script. It was from my great-aunt Athena, and it was an invitation to spend the summer at Tiger Lily, the falling-apart old hotel where she's lived since long before I was born. I was only ever there once, ages ago. My heart started beating really fast and my stomach did a major flip-flop, but after I read the postcard, I knew I had to go.
Dear Lila da Gama,
Now that you have reached the magical age of eleven, it's time for your inheritance. Come to Tiger Lily for the summer.
In haste,
Great-aunt Athena
No "Hello, how are you?", no "Hope to see you soon." Just that totally strange invitation.
As soon as my mom got home, I told her about the science fair, except the part about apologizing to Peter Peterson, and I showed her my ribbon. Then I handed her the postcard from Great-aunt Athena.
"About this title" may belong to another edition of this title.
- PublisherDelacorte Books for Young Readers
- Publication date2002
- ISBN 10 0385327897
- ISBN 13 9780385327893
- BindingHardcover
- Edition number1
- Number of pages128
- Rating
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