One Boy.
One Girl.
Two Hearts.
Two Worlds.
One Destiny.

The picturesque town of Santillana Del Mar, Spain is legendary for its mysterious caves, but few know deep in those caves lurks a hidden secret.

As seventeen-year-old-Keith stumbles onto a gateway deep within the heart of the mountain leading into a parallel universe known as Nevrhada—filled with Assassin-Vines, undead dragons, vampires, blood-thirsty Crocotta and other lethal creatures—he desperately clutches to his will to remain on earth. Despite his efforts to resist the lure of the enchanted world, Keith finds himself spiraling into a fantasy world beyond human imagination.

Propelled by the unknown—and the mesmerizing Princess Deso Cressida, with her captivating violet eyes and mind control that can enslave any mortal—Keith makes the ultimate mistake and trespasses into the Forest of Nightmares. A part of Nevrhada banned for all eternity.

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Teen

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Excerpt

Chapter One
~ The Move ~

I was asleep, oblivious to the turbulence in the plane. For a brief time, I could escape reality, escape everything and welcome my dreams. I was having a dream at this very moment, one I’d had on numerous occasions as a child, but could never recall the details upon waking. The sound of the voice in my dream calling to me never left an aftermath. Every time I opened my eyes, the details would become hazier by the second, as if the dream didn’t want to stick in the outside world.

The dream always started the same. I would be standing in my room, in Los Angeles, looking into a full-length mirror. Then, for some unexplained reason, an overpowering urge would cause me to walk through the mirror and open my eyes in a dense forest. Trees towered over me, ferns as far as my eyes could see, and a white fog clung to the ground, playfully wrapping itself around my legs.

I could smell the air the forest breathed, the crisp freshness combined with the moist soil. I could hear the soft humming of birds high in the forest canopy, and insects buzzed all around me, hidden in the folds of the forest. I was busy scrutinizing my surroundings, enthralled at the very notion that one second I was standing in my L.A. home, then in the next here. Where was here? I would hear a screech and look upwards, and see a large black crow ogling me with its vacant eyes, perched high up in the branches.

Then I was running from the bird. I didn’t understand why; it was, after all, just a harmless bird but something in its lifeless eyes stirred a warning within me. I would reach peculiar looking trees with reddish bark, always the same, placing my hand on its trunk I would gasp for breath, hearing the screeching of the bird, but not seeing the creature. My heart was hammering against my ribs, my pulse vibrating as the adrenaline coursed through my veins heightening my senses.

Then a voice would call out to me from amongst the vegetation, not my name, just the voice of a woman. I could never really hear the words as I ran after the sound. I would see the trailing of a silvery white and blue material disappear behind a tree. I would always stumble as I ran, no matter how prepared I was. When I hit the ground, I would wake up. As a child, the black crow would scare me and I would wake up, shaking and terrified. The older I got the less the dream disturbed me. I had experienced déjà vu many times. Mom had told me it was a gift; her mother also had the uncanny ability. The reason I did not ignore the dream altogether was that an aspect about it allowed me to feel significant. Every time I found myself walking though the mirror I would feel this sense of freedom, as if I belonged. Walking through a mirror was ridiculous but standing in the forest surrounded by the vegetation made sense as if I needed to be there, especially when the faceless voice called to me.

The fifteen-hour flight from Los Angeles to Spain was dreary and incessant. Mom and the twins were sleeping comfortably in their first class recliners, while I sat, restless.

I thought of everything I had left behind—friends, my now ex-girlfriend Amber, my martial arts classes, and most importantly, my dad. There were many nights I heard my parents arguing through the walls of our lavish house. My mom thought it was a good idea to place a substantial distance between her and my father. A break, she had called it. She didn’t take a small step, but a catastrophic one. We didn’t just move to another city, or another state. My mother went full out and decided an entire ocean was needed between her and my father. At least we stayed in the same hemisphere, I thought bitterly. I was going to finish my last year of high school in a foreign country, and I wasn’t thrilled.

I got up from my seat and stretched, walked to the lavatory, and kept my eyes on the cabin floor. Once the door was shut behind me, I removed my shirt and splashed water on my body and face. It wasn’t warm, yet I was sweating like it was going out of fashion. Must be the anxiety, I thought, staring at my reflection. I might have inherited my dark hair from my mom, but my physique was definitely from my dad, who was blessed with an athletic build. Back in my seat, I leafed through the pages of a Spanish travel guide and discovered a large section on Santillana Del Mar, deciding I might as well see what this new town looks like. Ancient, mysterious but above all ancient. I suppressed a groan of disgust. After collecting our luggage and exiting the airport, we saw a white board that read “Williams Family.”

The over-friendly driver greeted us with a heavy accent. He had a team of four drivers behind him, loading my dog and the suitcases. The twins were giggling—for them this was purely a lengthy holiday. A short while later we drove on a gravel road, which led onto a slope that continued to rise towards the mountains. We left the city and houses behind until only landscapes surrounded us. We passed the small popular town of Santillana Del Mar, thankful mom had decided to keep the sightseeing for another day.

The house that greeted us wasn’t what I expected. The imposing structure was a hefty size, naturally not half of our home in L. A., but big enough for the whole family, including Dad if I had to count him in. I saw five figures standing on the front porch of the house: Maria, the housekeeper, and her family, I assumed.

Jade and Jessie jumped and raced towards the house, ready to investigate. The green glow of the forest around the back of the house was in strange contrast with the twins’ laughter, too murky and ominous to be in harmony with the light banter. I eyed the forest hugging the side of the mountains, feeling annoyed. Where were the skyscrapers, the traffic, the hooting of car horns, the iron bridges? I acted unaffected, but who was I kidding? This would take some time getting used to. Perhaps I would come to accept the trees, as I had in my dream. I climbed out of the car with a smile, not wanting my mood to affect the other excited members of the family. The heavy rain clouds also hovered closer as if to inspect the new arrivals.

“Can I help you?” the driver asked, eyeing me curiously.

“No thanks,” I replied mechanically and snatched the two small bags in the back.

He frowned at my tenacity, but I ignored him and walked towards my new home eyeing it with uncertainty.

Mom had described it as a barn, but it sure didn’t look like one. There was, in fact, an old barn a few yards away from the house. I could picture old, dilapidated horse stables inside, cobwebs strung on the timbers and straw strewn on the dusty floor. Yet the house standing there, basking in the last rays of the setting sun, appeared like an old-fashioned stilted dwelling, modified in some places. A certain battered splendour enfolded the house with its combination of wooden timbers and stone.

“So, what do you think?” Mom asked.

“It’s...different,” I murmured after a while, my eyes still darting back and forth at the house. I walked to her side and asked, “Where’s Duke?” as I looked for my pet.

“On the porch,” she replied as she climbed the steps with the girls.

I hurried to join her so introductions could be made with the family that stood patiently waiting for us.

“You’re late,” the woman called Maria said, looking at the taxi driver, her face was plastered with a welcoming smile.

Greetings were exchanged with Maria, a short stubby woman with dark hair pinned high above her head. Her husband was Pascal, a spindly man with surprisingly large biceps, and her boys were Jorge and Mario. I noticed they looked similar, with their dad’s lighter hair and their mom’s darker complexion.

There was a girl hidden behind Maria’s dress. She appeared younger than the boys, and had her mother’s features. I didn’t catch her name as Maria mumbled it to Mom. The family had a thick Spanish accent interwoven with their delicate English words. I was curious about the people who would now attend to our house, but not contemptuous of them. I saw Duke’s crate as he howled in protest, begging to be let out.

Duke was an abnormally large, black Belgian shepherd cross with a Malamute. However, the only visibly Malamute trait in his body was his crystal-blue eyes. Dad had bestowed a puppy on me for my fourteenth birthday, saying it was my first year in high school, my first step from a child to an adolescent, soon to be an adult.

Duke has been with me ever since, which made him very obedient, and possessive of me. When I opened his crate, he all but jumped on me. I saw in my peripheral vision Maria and her family taking a step back, clearly wary of the large black dog. He bolted into the house, eager to sniff this new environment.

The atmosphere was pleasant, nothing was tense or forced, as Maria led us into the house and into each room. The rooms were fully furnished, and I was surprised that some of our boxes had been unpacked. My room was on the first floor at the end of the passage near the top of the stairs. I had large windows that swung outwards, with a picture-perfect view of the grassy slopes that merged into mountain terrain further on. This was not a view to which I was accustomed. Nature was all around us, all but peeking into each window ogling our movements. The first day was awkward, we all kept to ourselves lost in our own thoughts and unpacking. The next few days luckily Maria kept Mom company while I was left to my own devices. Struggling with my negative thoughts and halfheartedly trying to rearrange my new room.

On Saturday afternoon, Mom had asked me to accompany her into the barn. It was just as I had envisioned a few days ago: dusty, sheltered in straw, empty horse stalls. Wheelbarrows with tools lined the walls, as did neglected oil torches covered in cobwebs. The exception to this grimy appearance was a black and green Jeep wrapped in a bright red ribbon.

Mom was peering at me excitedly, and I couldn’t help grinning. I had wanted a car in L.A., and a Jeep in this rugged terrain was more than perfect.

“Thank you, Mom,” I said, out of breath as I rushed to the car.

She stood watching me as I admired my present. It wasn’t a brand-new vehicle as evidenced by a bit of rust here and there. Yet the Jeep had a new sound system and I was thrilled it was all mine. I spent most of the day driving around the landscape enjoying my small sense of happiness. Didn’t mind how fleeting it might be considering in what country I was driving it.

Later that afternoon, a man arrived at our house with a new car in tow for Mom. The next day after breakfast Mom had decided to take us for a drive to Santander. This was where the airport was located as well as the high school I would be attending.

We drove past the mysterious little village of Santillana del Mar with its stone walls. We spent the day visiting local shops, the grocery’s, we even stopped at a trendy beach. Without her spelling it out I understood what mom was trying to do. I desperately wanted to buy her sales pitch but I still preferred my real home, where dad was back in LA. By the time we drove home, Maria had prepared dinner and greeted us just before Pascal picked her up. Just before she left she diligently explained to mom where my new school was located. Conveniently enough it was near to the area we had driven today. Realization set in that tomorrow would be my first day in my new school and dread started to set in. Alone in my room that evening, I heard Mom on the phone, and I wondered if it was Dad. I couldn’t imagine what my overly ambitious father thought of my mother’s decision to change careers—from a much-respected university professor to a kindergarten teacher.

Throughout the weekend, Duke had disappeared for hours on end, and then returned without a clue of where he had been. Mom had said he was inspecting the vicinity. Yet I couldn’t help but think that something wild might harm him. I made a mental note that during the week I would stroll with him into the forest and see where he wandered. Sleeping was nearly impossible. I listened to Duke’s even breathing, envious.

I sat and stared out of my window across the shadowy landscape. The world appeared dark, menacing even. The radiant lights of Los Angeles were a very different sight, indeed. That was the first night I saw the mysterious lights filtering through the trees. At first, I thought it was the hazy lights of a far-off house. However, when my eyes calculated the grassy slopes leading from the barn to the hills and the trees beyond, I realized that was impossible. I then wondered if they might be fireflies, but the longer I stared at the hovering lights the more I doubted my speculation. The lights appeared too large to be insects. I walked to my wardrobe, and retrieved my camera. I doubted I would see anything but it was worth a shot. When I zoomed into the spot, I held my breath and gasped when I thought I saw a figure in the haze. I blinked a few times, pondering if my overactive mind was conjuring up images just to keep me preoccupied. Then the lights vanished into thin air, taking my possible imaginary figure with them.

I followed Maria’s instructions and was relieved to see Santander High School. It was a simple enough name. But then again, with an estimated total of just 250 hundred students in the entire school, I suspected everything else would be just as simple.

If my name-branded clothes didn’t say I was an out-of-towner, then my city boy attitude definitely would. I noticed a tall boy lean over the desk in the reception area and whisper to one of the reception women. Seconds later, she handed him a card and burst out laughing coyly.

We both walked out of the offices into the passages when the boy asked, “You are the American?” And looked me up and down. I now knew what an insect in a jar felt like.

“I guess I am,” I answered, indifferent, aware that I had already been labelled.

“I’m Juan,” he said, his voice filled with confidence as he extended his hand.

“Keith Williams,” I said, gripping his hand in mine

“We have bio chem. together, first class, follow me.” He spun around without waiting for me to answer. I shrugged; it wasn’t like I was going to stop and ask for directions. The bell hadn’t rung to announce the start of school so I was slightly curious to know to where this boy was marching. The stares heading my way didn’t go unnoticed; I chose to ignore them. I would never stare at an insect in a glass charge again.

Juan stopped in front of a group of boys; one was clutching a basketball. The second he saw Juan he tossed the ball at him, and Juan caught the ball midair with surprising ease. We stopped in front of the rest of the boys, who all turned and stared.

“You play basketball?” Juan enquired as one of his eye brows lifted questioningly.

“Some, now and then,” I answered and shrugged not planning to elaborate on my hidden skill. Juan looked skeptical but the speculation he harboured he either chose to ignore or swallow as he made the introductions.

“Everyone, this is Keith from America,” Juan declared as if he had just caught a prize winning fish. “Keith, this is my brother, Alvaro. And these are my friends, Pablo, Miguel, and Carlos.”

I greeted each one individually, then stopped and turned as all the boys’ eyes abruptly diverted from me to someone behind me. I turned around and my gaze met large, brown eyes belonging to a pretty girl.

I froze, caught completely off guard. Her eyes had a tinge of hazel as she met mine enquiringly. She wore flat brown boots cropped to just below her knees, overlapping black stockings covered by a large blue sweater snugly showing off her curves. Her shoulder length black hair, with brown highlights perfectly contoured her face and her dark skin complexion. There was no denying she was a little more than pretty, beautiful, in fact.

The two girls walking on the sides of her, one a redhead, almost auburn, and the other a dark soot-coloured blonde nearly ogled me out of my clothes. I could tell by the way the other boys looked the brunette, she was in the same league as Amber, my ex-girlfriend, a popular girl. I had just stepped out of a relationship in another country and wasn’t planning to step into one here. There was no point as I didn’t plan on staying here long. Dad and Mom would come to their senses soon and we would move back home. This would all one day become a family joke around the dinner table.

The bell rang and with it came the sanctuary of the classrooms. The subjects were the same as Los Angeles just a few months behind, so it was going to be a bore to pretend I didn’t know the work. In History, to my surprise, I was seated next to the pretty girl with the blue sweater. I walked towards the desk, and she smiled warmly at me when I moved in next to her. I nodded and without delay turned my attention back to the board.

I was taken aback when I noticed the assignments the teacher handed out were concentrated on Spain, and its cities. I smiled, rather thrilled that I was going to learn something new after all. History would need my undivided attention. At least I had something to keep me busy. Even to myself that sounded sad.

After the assignments were handed out the teacher left the classroom, and most of the kids started with the papers, some opted to talk. My desk mate was one of them. Out of the blue she turned to me with a dazzling smile. With not a hint of nervousness she probed and questioned me. It was unexplainably annoying but most of all her loud tone infuriated me. When she asked me if I was the kid with the infamous -lawyer-dad, I wanted to strangle her because that got me a few curious looks. I didn’t know how she knew about my history and I cringed every time she opened her beautiful mouth. It turned out she wasn’t from around here either; her family lived in the mountains and she was part of some rural tribe. “What brings you to Spain?” she asked, politely this time, softer as if to keep our conversation private.

Too late, Princess. “My mother wants to raise my sisters in a different environment for a year.” I said, the first thing that came to mind, pleased at my answer. I dropped my pen giving up on the notion that I might actually be able to complete my assignment. She seemed unperturbed and nibbled own pen between her perfectly straight teeth.

“I’m Clarazetta, but everybody calls me Clara” she declared.

“Keith,” I replied. I noticed she was even more beautiful up close, and desperately tried to ignore the fact. She was overly friendly and seemed to appreciate the fact that I wasn’t planning to follow her around like the rest of the brainless boys in school. Before she could reply the teacher returned and we both finally concentrated on our assignments. I noticed her peeking at me more than once but kept my eyes training on the black letters in front of me.

 

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