The Gwythienian: Odan Terridor Trilogy, #1

By Savannah J Goins

When turning invisible at her high school attracts unexpected attention from another world, Enzi's drawn into a fight for survival in a magical realm.

While she's busy missing her dad on another lonely birthday, bullies pick that moment to notice she's alive. She tries her new trick of turning invisible and heads home early.

There, she finds a letter she wasn't meant to read and discovers that her mom's been lying to her for years. She has to know the truth. There's a connection between the letter and her ability to turn invisible, which summons a dragon from another world into hers.

When the dragon demands her help to save his realm from ruin, she'd trade her old high school problems for this mess any day. But with another more devious dragon on their trail, she can't turn back now. Whether she likes it or not, she has a magical realm to save—if she doesn't die trying.

Full of magic, mystery, and slow-burn feels, this YA portal fantasy adventure is perfect for readers who enjoy no-spice romance, talking animals, and female protagonists finding their true strength.

Grab your copy of The Gwythienian now to begin your otherworldly journey!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Savannah J Goins
• Release date: Nov 3, 2017
• ISBN: 9780998645506

Book preview

Chapter one

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Cold sweat dripped down my forehead. I shivered, trying to forget what I just saw.

It never worked.

Sitting up from my mattress on the floor, I rubbed some warmth into the goosebumps on my arms. A thin, shiny layer of frost coated the bottom of the window. I reached for it and my fingers came away wet, leaving smears in their wake.

Crap. The heat’s out again.

I scribbled away a small section of condensation from the windowpane, peering through the bars. Sure enough, a fresh layer of sparkling white blanketed the concrete. I barely saw it in the early morning dimness.

Strange marks disturbed the new snow—like giant footprints. But they couldn’t be animal tracks. Not even the local zoo could have anything with feet that big…

A flash of brown pulled my eyes from the snowy ground. Something disappeared behind a dumpster. Or had I imagined it? I rubbed my eyes. Mornings were never my strong point. The nightmares were still too fresh on my mind. Caleb, the barn, the blood…always the same and never less paralyzing. Most details would fade away, but I always remembered the gist of what happened.

Fighting to escape the tangled mess of quilt and sheets, I rose from the floor, longing for the comfort of music to distract me. But we couldn’t even afford cellphones, much less an iPod or an MP3 player. I’d stumbled across an old cassette player once at a garage sale, but I used it to death in no time, along with the thirty-some-year-old eighties mixtapes it came with. Since then, it was back to nothing but the car radio. So I would have to bear the pounding silence for a little while longer.

I shrugged off my ratty sweats and exchanged them for a pair of loose jeans. Pulling a giant sweater over a loose long-sleeve t-shirt, I fished around in the top plastic drawer for the fuzziest pair of socks. My hand came back with my warmest, longest pair, but they’d been too small to reach around my chubby legs for several years. With a wistful sigh, I stuffed them back in and settled for a pair of thick ankle socks. Reminding myself that it was better this way, I walked out of my room toward the kitchen.

I opened the fridge to scrounge for lunches and found it mostly empty. Making a mental note to go to the grocery store as soon as possible, I pulled out last night’s leftovers—spaghetti and meatballs. If I’d had access to quality ingredients, I would’ve made something fancier—or at least made my own sauce and meatballs. But meals that called for so many ingredients were too expensive—no matter how much I enjoyed cooking them.

Mom! I’m heading out, okay? She always took more time rustling around in the bathroom than I did.

Backpack and lunches in hand, I hurried outside to the car to get it warming, regretting once again that we hadn’t had enough money after the week’s necessities to buy coffee. It’d been several weeks since we’d had that luxury, and we both felt it.

Some steaming hot caffeine would be really nice on this freezing, January morning.

Moments after the squeaky door slammed shut behind me, my ancient tennis shoes were quick to remind me how not water-proof they were. As I rushed out to our battered Oldsmobile, the fresh slush on the ground seeped through the worn fabric. I rolled my eyes. It was going to be one of those days, was it? This was only Tennessee! It wasn’t like we lived in Iceland or something. Fortunately, our car was only a few steps away.

The poor old hunk of metal Mom and I shared really should have gone to car heaven many years ago. Bits of faded grayish paint stubbornly held their places against the encroaching rust that had mostly taken over. Except, of course, for the one garish orange fender—the only replacement we’d been able to afford.

I yanked on the driver’s side door, but the lock had slipped into place without permission. I struggled with the key for a few seconds before it popped back up. Maybe the car liked to think it was worth being broken into.

Shortly after I plopped into the driver’s seat, Mom opened the passenger door and lightly slid in. Happy birthday, Enzi! she beamed at me.

I stared blankly at her as she settled into our ancient chariot—affectionately dubbed the Tin Can.

It’s already the sixth? Must have lost track of time.

Mom grinned enthusiastically, trying to hide the exhaustion in her smile. But I saw the regret behind her eyes. Birthdays had always been like this. She was ashamed that once again we couldn’t afford to stray from the budget for her to buy me so much as a dollar coffee for a birthday present.

Uh, thanks, Mom! I tried not to show that I completely spaced the date.

"Oh my gosh! I can’t believe you’re seventeen! How old does that make me? Ugh, I don’t even want to think about it."

No matter how much older than me she may have been, she was still prettier—petite with a clear complexion and slender features. I was almost twice her size, though not much taller.

Come on, Mom. I threw the car into drive and hit the gas, pleased that the pedal decided not to stick this morning. You’re only eighteen years older than me. After next year, I’ll be closer to your age than not. I watched from the corner of my eye as she tucked a cluster of grays behind one ear. The many years of single-mothering and juggling multiple jobs had aged her beautiful face prematurely.

That’s true! Wow, you’ve grown up so fast. You’ll be an award-winning chef, cooking full-time in a penthouse one day. Just you wait.

Did a job like that even exist? Where someone could do nothing but cook and jam out to music all day? And get paid for it? That would be the life! But we could never afford the kind of education it would take to get somewhere like that.

Hey, have you noticed the weird marks in the snow out behind the complex? It looks like some giant animal or something has been walking around out there.

She rolled her eyes, smiling ruefully. A giant animal, huh? Alright, fine. I’ll stop talking about how you keep growing up whenever I’m not looking.

Uh…sure. That wasn’t what I was going for, but it answered my question.

We wobbled across the cracked parking lot—careful to avoid the now hidden potholes—and onto the dingy road, bouncing and rattling at a steady pace. The carpet on the ceiling dropped down, blocking my view. Glaring at it, I shoved the pushpin back into the ceiling, wishing it would quit flopping around. The other twenty-something pins held up their bit of ceiling lining just fine. Why couldn’t this one do the same?

It was still dim enough outside for me to tell the difference in the headlights’ abilities to illuminate the road. One was smashed, but the bulb still worked enough to outshine the faded glow of its twin. The old Tin Can was a sorry sight for sure, but she got us where we needed to go.

And she had a functioning radio, which was all I cared about.

My fingers twitched toward the dials, desperate for the sweet distraction of musical sounds, but I gripped the steering wheel instead. Mom didn’t feel the same way I did about music. Sure, she would want me to turn it on if she knew I wanted to listen to it, but I wouldn’t do that to her. I’d seen how much it hurt her. So it would just have to wait.

What do you think about taking the shortcut to work? I ventured, already knowing the answer. But it was my birthday. Maybe she’d—

You know I don’t like that bridge.

I sighed. "I know you don’t like heights. That bridge is perfectly safe." But I steered us down the long route anyway.

We bounced and trundled over the back roads, making our way to Main Street. Passing many snow-dusted skeleton trees, I admired the untainted snow on the side of the road, not yet marred by morning traffic.

My mind wandered as I drove on autopilot. Another birthday. Funny how some people claimed to actually feel a year older on their birthdays. I’d experienced several others so far and never felt any different afterward. That always puzzled me. Seemed like a person should feel different somehow…triumphant, for making it through another whole year alive and sane… for reaching that milestone. Maybe some people did.

But not me.

As we neared the location of Mom’s twelve-hour shift, the tall streetlamps flickered off with the growing natural light. The blanket of snow was utterly mutilated here, morphed by the busier traffic of town into gray slush lines.

We approached a sheer mountainside covered in beautiful, glistening icicles. I let myself stare—as best I could while driving. Their shimmering glory captivated me, but something about them seemed to bother Mom. I never quite figured out why.

She always glanced away from the frozen rock wall. And if I caught a glimpse of her face, I’d swear she looked…embarrassed. Why a stunning, jagged mountainside covered in giant, shining icicles should make a person feel embarrassed, I couldn’t imagine. Maybe she was embarrassed about being so afraid of heights?

Even before I was old enough to sit in the front seat, I remember calling her attention to them in a moment of childish excitement. She always agreed they were very beautiful, but she did so without turning her eyes to them. She’d said once that it was because of her fear of heights, but the thing was, we weren’t ever on top of the mountain. We drove past the bottom of it. I’d heard of people getting queasy from looking up at something very high. Maybe that was it.

She sometimes hitched a ride home with a friend after work, and I wondered if it was because she didn’t like driving by the mountain in daylight. Whenever she caught a ride with someone else, she wouldn’t be home until well after dark. If it somehow was the icicles that bothered her, maybe knowing they were there wasn’t a problem as long as she didn’t have to see them.

At the same time, finding another way home could be a ploy to try to get me to spend time with friends after work. But if that was the reason, it was wasted effort, because I’d been running low in that department for years.

In any case, I was glad I hadn’t inherited that particular fear. I loved looking at the icicles.

We arrived at Mom’s windowless warehouse of a work building and I stopped the car in front of the door. She grabbed her lunch and slid out, waving goodbye through the window. Have a great birthday!

I will! I promised, not sure how I’d manage it. She walked around a puddle in the parking lot, giving it a wider berth than was really necessary. She claimed not to be superstitious, but avoiding puddles—and swimming pools and aquariums and the ocean exhibit at the zoo—was another one of her quirks.

The moment I was out of the parking lot, I turned on the radio, breathing for the first time that morning as the music poured itself into my soul, relieving the ache.

Music was the best part of my world. It was my freedom. When I listened to music, I escaped everything else. I could escape the pain of never knowing my father and of seeing how much my mother still grieved for him, and the guilt of knowing how hard she worked for our survival. I could escape the pain of betrayal thrown back in my face every day from the girl who’d been my childhood best friend, and from everyone at school who believed the lies she told about me.

Music was like a drug. If I went too long without having at least a few minutes to float on the serenity of the sounds, the hopelessness came back, sinking its dagger-claws into my chest and paralyzing me. But when I felt the music all around me—loud enough that I could sing at the top of my lungs without hearing the racket of my own voice—I almost believed I could fly away and be eternally safe and free. It was moments like those that I lived for.

Best of all, I escaped the horror of Caleb and all the shame and powerlessness I couldn’t escape otherwise. When I turned the music up loud enough, it surrounded me, like a soft blanket, covering my body and protecting my mind from all the pain.

As one station switched to commercials, I turned the dial to another. That new Vince Macklan song was playing, the one that I only knew a few words to. I tapped my thumbs on the steering wheel as I went, enjoying my birthday for the first time so far.

While tapping the wheel to the beat with one hand, I touched the purple stone suspended from a chain around my neck with the other. Crappy as the cheap, silver-colored chain might have been, I’d barely ever taken it off since mom gave it to me years ago. It was the only pretty thing I owned, the only pretty thing about me.

If rocks could be wild, this one would be. Its many natural facets and imperfect edges caught the light and made it dance like magic. The color of amethyst, it glistened like a diamond just pulled from a fresh water stream. It was about the size of a quarter—maybe a bit bigger—and much more spherical.

The familiar ache of loss clawed at my heart again. The stone had arrived with my father’s belongings after he’d died in combat. Mom had it made into a necklace for me. It was the only thing of his that was mine, besides the picture of him surrounded by other young men in camo uniforms. That crinkled image lived on, folded safely between the pages of The Horse and His Boy. I thought he might like that one better than my Jane Austin titles, since it was about a guy.

It was strange to think that I was nearly the same age as those men in that picture, who once seemed so ancient to me.

I wished I could’ve known him. I wished I could’ve heard him sing Happy Birthday to me. I wished I could’ve felt him carry me up to my crib when I was little. Would he have sung lullabies? Whispered good night? Called me silly nicknames?

Thanks to some military mishap that killed him and his whole troop, I would never know what kind of dad he would’ve been. They’d never told us what really happened, of course. You could trust the government to keep everything a secret from us civilians. All classified and stuff. Oh well. Would I really want to know?

My hand squeezed the stone tighter. I liked having something of his near my heart, as cliché as that sounded.

I checked the mirror just in case, but I was still visible. I sighed. It wasn’t working today. It’d been a while. I couldn’t figure out how to make it happen. But if only I could learn how to control it! Then I wouldn’t need to be fat anymore. I wouldn’t need to hide.

Glaring at the reflection of my double chin, I tucked the stone beneath the roomy fabric of my sweatshirt.

When I reached the crowded parking lot of my high school, I wished again for some earbuds and a nice phone so I didn’t have to stop infusing my soul with musical goodness. But no such thing for me. So I had to amble on inside and endure the presence of a bunch of unpleasant people and the droning on of a bunch of uncaring teachers about a bunch of uninteresting things.

Yay for birthdays.

Chapter two

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Isat in the parking lot long enough to hear the end of the song, dreading the impending silence.

Ugh. Taking the keys from the ignition, I stepped out and headed away from the sanctuary of my trusty Tin Can and toward the miserable school building.

The main section was an ugly old concrete monstrosity. A newer mismatched brick addition stood forlornly on the left side, but even that one was faded and covered in lichen.

As usual, my loose hoodie over an even looser tee shirt with a baggy pair of non-descript jeans attracted no attention. It was like I was invisible to everyone, which was exactly what I wanted.

I made it to my first classroom unnoticed and slid into a back row corner desk, still longing for some tunes to fill the time between now and when the teacher decided to show up. I craved distraction.

As my eyes skipped around the room, I caught a glimpse of Jillian Richmond. The neckline of her bright-green skintight sweater plunged profoundly, showing off the depths of flawless, tan cleavage. Her blonde, beach-curly hair was done up in a perfect messy bun, revealing a pair of silver earrings dangling from shapely ears. She laughed with the boy whose desk she sat on.

She was unbearably beautiful.

Her best friend, Carlie Jacobs—also known as my upgraded-bestie replacement—sat on Jillian’s other side. Carlie was equally as gorgeous, but opposite of Jillian, in a way. She sported dark brown hair—so dark that in some lighting it looked black, and set off her pure, porcelain skin with a vampire-like regality. She tended a little more toward the gothic side, but with excellent taste, and her dark clothes always contrasted with her practically iridescent skin to her advantage.

Several students surrounded her, cheerfully wowing at something on her desk. Probably some amazing drawing she’d penciled in an uncannily short amount of time.

That was the thing about the two of them. While they were miserably gorgeous, they weren’t the typical dazzling, yet empty-headed dumb blonde types. They were beautiful and talented.

Horribly talented.

Carlie, with her artistic skills as if she’d already graduated art school twice, doodled masterpieces on her notebook pages and had even sold a few paintings for a lot of money. I’d seen things that she’d scribbled and then thrown away, maybe because she didn’t think they were good enough. They made my best attempt at sketching look like toddler scribbles. Not that I compared myself to her, of course.

And Jillian played the violin with breathtaking precision. She was brilliant in an orchestra and fabulous on her own. And her style consisted of sexy, revealing clothes that bordered on the verge of lingerie. Naturally, every guy in the whole school drooled after her everywhere she went. I didn’t get it. How could that not scare her? But she seemed to revel in it.

I was a balloon compared to their hourglasses, shorter and plumper than the two of them put together. My skin was closer to the color of Carlie’s, but with a yellower hue and acne. While I didn’t want the attention that they always got, I did wish I could be as beautiful as they were, just so I wouldn’t have to be embarrassed of my dumpiness.

But it was better that way. I was safer.

In addition to my physical shortcomings, I had no talent. While I loved music, I couldn’t make it to save my life. And I couldn’t draw or paint or anything either, as much as I wished I could. So, they had me beat in every way. There was no sticking my nose up at their lack of intelligence as I pranced off to advanced classes. It was they who were in the advanced classes, not me. I had nothing on them.

Nothing, except one seriously crazy piece of jewelry.

But I never showed that off. That was my secret. Of course, Jillian had seen it when Mom first gave it to me years ago, back when she and I were the closest of friends. But a lot changed since then. Did she even remember I owned something like that?

Next thing I knew, class had ended and the bell was ringing. I sped off to hit the bathrooms before next period.

I reached the bathroom and closed myself in a stall. A few moments later I’d flushed the toilet and was at the sink, turning on the hot water. I tried not to look in any of the mirrors, but the whole wall was lined with them, so they were hard to avoid. That one scar sneaking up the side of my neck was hard to miss. Not to mention, I was twice as heavy as most girls my age. I frowned at my chubby reflection, pulling the necklace from inside my sweatshirt to look at it instead. That was all the beauty I had going for me.

It shimmered, even in the dim light. Its purple surface somehow always glistened beautifully. My eyes fell away from the reflection of the stone as I scrubbed and rinsed my hands. Two toilets flushed behind me. I turned off the hot water and reached for a paper towel.

Well if it isn’t Morbidly Obese Mackenzi.

My eyes closed. Not now, Jillian.

Gross, Carlie scoffed.

Ugh. Both of them.

Raising my eyes back to the mirror, I saw them there, right behind me.

"Whoa, Scar-face, what are you wearing?" Jillian stared at my reflection.

I rolled my eyes, hate for their stupid nicknames simmering in the pit of my stomach. Yes, the one scar refused to be hidden by clothes like the others could be, but it still wasn’t on my face.

I whirled on them. My clothes, genius. I tried to pour all my contempt into a glower. I hoped it was fierce enough to make up for my fail at words. Brilliant comebacks were not my area of expertise, even though my clothes were a frequent subject of their snide comments.

Where’d you get that necklace? Jillian pointed to the stone I hadn’t had a chance to shove back into my sweatshirt.

Shoot! My heart raced. That was none of their business. Why’d I have to be so careless today?

Give it to me. She held out her hand, smiling venomously.

I bolted for the door, but their lighter, more athletic frames beat me to it and blocked my way. I could charge through them, but what if they grabbed the necklace as I passed? Or what if they pulled me back by my clothes and snatched it then?

What? Carlie smirked. Did you steal it or something? She made a grab for it.

I covered it with both hands and turned sharply, knocking her slim, porcelain arm away with my shapeless one. "No! I did not steal it."

They looked me up and down and shared a knowing glance between them. When their eyes returned to me, I was really sweating. They were taller and probably stronger than me. And they were used to getting their way.

"Well it’s not like you could afford something like that. And it’s definitely not like any guy would look at you twice, much less give you any jewelry. That leaves stealing it to make yourself feel better about how much you suck. Am I right?" Jillian glared down her perfect, tan nose at me.

No, you’re not right. Look, either way, it’s none of your—

Stop lying! Carlie smacked me so hard across the face that I reeled into the first stall. I caught my balance, then slammed and locked the door. My heavy breathing echoed through the empty stall, my face burning where she hit me.

The girls laughed and two pairs of shoes approached, echoing off the tiled floor as I frantically searched for an escape route.

"Come on, just give it up. It’s not like it’s actually yours. And there are two of us and only one of you. You know there’s no other way out of this!"

As their shadows grew under the door, I kicked myself for ending up even farther from the way out of the bathroom. I braced myself against the wall. I could hide the stone, or… or… swallow it or something. Or maybe….

Closing my eyes, I directed all my focus to the back of my mind, the place where I could just barely be aware of the ability. It was like a smooth concrete wall covered in soapy water—and I had to get to the other side. But it was too slippery to climb and too thick to break through. Like an impossible math problem. There was an answer. It was just really hard to reach.

I need to be invisible. I need to be invisible.

I mentally hurled the words at the wall, but I couldn’t break through. I knew a way existed somewhere, but there were no handholds. It was so hard to focus.

Jillian pounded on the stall door. "Get out here, Scar-face! I am taking that necklace whether you like it or not, and I’m getting really tired of waiting!"

They couldn’t take it. It was all I had left of my dad! But why wasn’t it working? What was I doing wrong?

A soft, metallic noise came from the door. I opened my eyes to see the little circle over the locking mechanism jiggling. Their shadows overlapped as they tried to get the lock undone from the outside. Too fancy for crawling under the door.

I closed my eyes and focused again, reaching up to tuck the necklace back into my shirt in preparation for their break in.

Then crack! There it was! The moment my fingers touched the stone, a fissure appeared on the slippery surface of the barrier in my mind. I tried to reach for it, to think toward it. I could almost get ahold of it… and then I had it. Something was there and I mentally held on for dear life.

When I opened my eyes and looked down at myself, I was no longer there.

Chapter three

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Angry fist falls replaced the jiggling of the lock.

"Get out already! Come on! This is ridiculous!" The room echoed with Jillian’s shouts and bangs.

Stop pounding on the door, Jillian, Carlie spat. Just crawl under and unlock it from the inside. Then we’ll have her backed into a corner!

Me? Jillian shouted. "Why should I crawl all over this nasty floor? You do it!"

No! You’re the one who wants the necklace!

"Whatever! If you want it, you go get it!"

Carlie scoffed. Just come out already. You know we’ll win this one way or another. We always do.

I backed as far from the door as I could. If they got in and happened to reach out and feel me there, invisible, well…I had to admit, it would be kinda interesting to see. But it probably wouldn’t save the necklace.

When I didn’t answer, both girls put their eyes up to the crack between the door and the wall of the stall.

What the…how is she not there? Jillian shrieked as Carlie burst into the next stall looking for me.

I grinned, allowing a little glimmer of hope to sprout in my chest. This just might work.

The other stall doors clanged and echoed as they searched, followed by a colorful smattering of cuss words.

She must’ve gotten out of the bathroom somehow! Carlie ran to the main door and pulled it open, probably checking the hallway.

But how?

Carlie darted back to my stall and peered through the crack again. "Maybe she crawled over to the next stall and snuck out behind us while you beat the crap out of the door. Nice job making enough noise for her