The Gate to Htrae

By Kerry Gough

"The Gate to Htrae" is an enthralling young adult novel that transports readers to a mirror-image world in the far reaches of the universe. Get ready to embark on a fantastical adventure with a young protagonist as he sets off on the journey of a lifetime. Introducing readers to demonic warriors, fallen angels, and more fantastical elements, this is a can't-miss hit that you won't be able to put down.

An ancient gate rises majestically on the hillside above fifteen-year-old Alex's home. It is locked— rather odd since there's no fence or wall. For the umpteenth time, Alex tries to open it, just for the sake of opening this useless old gate. As his younger brother Drew taps a melody on the thumb latch, Alex sings a strange little ditty. A golden key appears and floats to Alex's lap. He picks it up. His hand becomes translucent. Shocked by the sight of his bones, veins, and tendons, he throws it down. Drew hollers, "Don't be a scaredy-cat. Open the gate!" Summoning his courage, Alex unlocks the gate, steps through… and disappears. He has entered Htrae, Earth's mirror image. Readers will want to join him on Htrae. Mind you, Htrae is at war with Natas and his demons, but readers will be safe. Pure Light will protect them through "The Gate to Htrae".

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: May 16, 2022
• ISBN: 9781667833040

Book preview

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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locals or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2021 by Kerry Gough

Copyright Illustrations © 2021 Sheila Fein

All rights reserved.

ISBN 978-1-66783-303-3

eBook ISBN 978-1-66783-304-0

By Kerry Gough

The Gate to Htrae

Dear Jeff

Not So Innocent Abroad

The Incredible Works of an Undiscovered Genius

(To be released in late 2022)

Imagination will often carry us to worlds that never were.

But without it we go nowhere.

Carl Sagan

For My Grandchildren

Alex, Avellina, Drew, Jeff and Marie

and

Their Htraean Kin

Xela, Anilleva, Werd, Ffej and Eiram

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Acknowledgements

About the Author Kerry Gough

Chapter 1

The first mystery is who built the gate. Old-timers claimed that Mr. Raz who lived in the house at the top of the hill above the gate built it. The story they told was that Raz intended to surround his property but had spent all his money on the elaborate gate, leaving none for a fence. There was no proof of their theory, and no one claimed to have personally witnessed any of that. The gate had been there as long as anyone, including the old-timers, could remember. The story of its creation became popular lore—nothing more than a good story. But it seemed reasonable, and what other explanation could there be?

It was an impressive structure. Its granite pillars rose ten feet high, and its hand-hewn redwood planks were eight feet tall. The latch, forged of hammered blue steel, was elegant in its simple and practical design, with a thumb press the size of a serving spoon. The lever of the latch and the straps binding the redwood planks were flattened iron, fashioned from wine-barrel hoops. Over the years since its construction, the gate’s hewn redwood planks had weathered, their vibrant reds maturing to soft grays. Lichens had taken root and were growing along tiny fissures in the granite and on the mortar between the blocks.

The second mystery is why the gate was locked. There was no connecting fence or wall. Locking it made no sense whatsoever. Any able-bodied person could climb the steep hill to the gate and go right around it. And many did. Curious hikers had worn a path up the hill to the gate. Knee-high grasses, manzanita bushes, and wildflowers grew right in front of it, and on either side of it, several stately, massive live oak trees spread their broad, thick, leafy canopies, offering a shady place for hikers to sit and enjoy the view of the bay. The path divided just short of the gate, one side of trampled vegetation going around the gate’s left column and the other around the right. The paths reunited a few feet past the upper side of the gate but did not continue up the hill. There was nothing up there except for a weather-worn, tired old house.

Over the years, many curious adults and children had tried to open the gate. They would push on the thumb press, but it would not budge. Some even brought keys from home to try in the keyhole above the latch, but nothing ever fit, and no key could turn in it. Everyone simply assumed that the inner workings of the latch were wedded by rust. Yet the thumb press, latch, lever, and hinges were as bright and clean as the day someone had pounded them into life on an anvil. Indeed, rather than rust, the gate’s steel workings had taken on a soft, coppery patina similar to that of aging bronze statuary. The forces of nature that had kindly grayed the redwood planks had been equally kind to the steel of the gate.

Unlike the gate, Raz’s house, however, had not weathered well over the years. Paint peeled here and there, moss grew on the shingled roof, and the double-paned window that commanded an unrestricted view of the bay and ocean leaked, allowing moisture to condense along the inside surfaces, creating a mist on the glass that came and went with changes in the weather.

Mr. Raz was a giant of a man, six feet four inches tall, weighing about 230 solid pounds, sporting a well-trimmed, bright white beard and head topped with thick, wavy white hair. Raz and the gate without a fence were keen topics of conversation for the people living in the neighborhood below the hill. Most of the adults surmised that Raz was just a harmless old eccentric, perhaps a bit loony. No one really knew anything about him, and that ignorance made him a fearsome figure, at least to the younger kids. Older kids, like fifteen-year-old Alex Naman, invented wild stories, imagining him to be a kindly, magical man, the likes of Albus Dumbledore in the Harry Potter books.

Often two or three of the children would gather at the gate and push and pound on the latch, growing increasingly frustrated and soon bored with trying to open a gate that led nowhere. Alex was one of those kids. He had pounded on the latch many times, striking it with his dad’s ball-peen hammer. Discordant sounds would bounce off the hillside, echoing down to the subdivision where the boys lived and up to Raz’s residence. Some of the boys swore that when they were pounding on the latch, Raz stepped out on his deck and watched, his face lit up with a kind and knowing smile, his eyes sparkling like diamonds. He always disappeared as quickly and mysteriously as he had appeared. Unlike some in the neighborhood, Raz never complained about the racket. He was a patient and kind man, and if his neighbors had bothered to knock on his door and offer to get acquainted, they would have soon realized he was someone who could always find something of value in everyone, especially youngsters.

Alex was obsessed by the gate and relentless in his determination to open it. His friends laughed at him, walked around the gate, and mockingly chanted an age-old song verse, We hear you knocking, but you can’t come in. One Sunday he decided to try once again. There was a small problem: he had promised his mother that he would keep his eleven-year-old brother, Drew, entertained and out of her hair while she prepared lesson plans for her fourth-grade class.

Drew was busy in the den assembling his newest Lego set, a model of the Mars colony, where fifteen astronauts had been living since establishment of the base in 2035. The family pet, Otis Roosevelt, a black and white Labradoodle who seldom left Drew’s side, lay next to him, seemingly intent on observing Drew’s activity. Alex figured that Drew wouldn’t bother Mom if he just took off. When Drew was busy working on a Lego model, he often didn’t stir for hours. But, Alex mused, he would really be in trouble if Drew were to discover that he had left. He could just imagine Drew yelling, Hey Mom, where’s Alex? He didn’t want to get in trouble. Why not take Drew with me?

Hey, Drew, Alex said, as he poked Drew in the shoulder to gain his attention, let’s go up the hill to the gate. I want to try something.

Drew had never gone to the gate, but he had heard Alex ask their father, Matthew, about it, who put it there and why was it locked. Matthew went up to the gate with Alex once, tried to open it, and failed. Well, Alex, it is just one of those strange mysteries, he said. That answer did not satisfy Alex, who was very, very curious and did not give up once he set his mind on a project.

So come on, let’s go, Drew.

Can’t you see I’m busy?

If you come with me, I’ll help you build the Mars colony when we get back.

Old Mr. Raz lives up there, and he’s scary.

Don’t be a scaredy-cat. Raz never hurt anybody, and I’ve been up there a hundred times, replied Alex. Come on! It’ll be fun.

Alex went to his dad’s workbench in the garage and rummaged through his toolbox, searching for the ball-peen hammer that he always used to pound on the gate latch. He found the hammer.

Let’s go, Drew. Alex set off for the gate.

Wait for me! Drew yelled, running to catch up. Come on, Otis. Always delighted to get outside, Otis jumped up and scrambled out the door right behind Drew.

The three adventurers hurried up the hill to the gate.

What are you going to do? asked Drew.

I’m going to get this gate open if it’s the last thing I ever do.

Alex put both thumbs on the latch and pushed down as hard as he could, but as usual the latch would not move. Then he struck the thumb press firmly with the little hammer and produced piercing, clanging sounds that rang unpleasantly in his ears. He soon angered and struck the latch repeatedly, pounding on it as fast and hard as he could. Discordant noise bounced against the houses at the bottom of the hill and resounded back up to Raz’s house at the top.

Otis began to howl and then lay down and covered his ears with his paws.

Damn it, damn it, damn it! yelled Alex in synchrony with each strike of the hammer.

That’s awful! yelled Drew. Stop it, or I’ll tell Dad you said damn it.

Dad swears when he’s angry, and I’m angry so I can swear! Alex yelled, still swearing and pounding on the latch.

Quit making that awful noise. You’re hurting my ears. Look at poor Otis. He can’t stand that noise, and neither can I.

Alex stopped and sat down. Over the many times that he had visited the gate, he had become strangely fond of it, in spite of its stubborn refusal to open. Alex was equally stubborn. He regarded his assault on the gate as friendly combat and was determined not to give up. In some ways, the gate was his friend—an obstinate friend, perhaps, but nevertheless a welcome challenge. He felt drawn to it, like a bee to a sweet blossom. He had a recurring, nagging feeling that the gate wanted to be opened. He was so frustrated that it would not unlock and swing open on its ancient hinges.

Alex was ready to give up. OK, let’s go home.

Wait. Let me try. I think you hit it too hard, Drew said. Dad says losing your temper never gets you anywhere. Just makes things worse. Come on, let me try. I bet I can get it to open.

Alex handed the hammer to Drew. Go ahead. It won’t open.

Drew struck the latch ever so gently, tapping in a musical, rhythmic way. Unlike the painful noise that the gate emitted when Alex furiously pounded on it, Drew’s tapping produced pleasant sounds. He tapped on the thumb press, the latch lever, and the hinges. Depending on where and how hard he tapped, the gate replied with tones of differing pitches. A pleasant melody filled the air. Drew continued tapping, having a marvelous time, incredibly creating music with a little hammer tapping an old steel latch. As he continued, the tapping tones melded together into a lovely, haunting melody: music from an unseen symphony orchestra seemed to surround the boys. Drew swayed back and forth, in rhythm with the music. Alex opened his eyes, amused at seeing Drew moving as if in a trance. That was not all he saw. He had the feeling that somebody was watching. And someone was. Old Mr. Raz was standing on his deck, smiling hugely, and he too was swaying in rhythm with the symphony of the gate.

Alex smiled back at Mr. Raz and joined in the magic of the moment, humming along in harmony with the music. Somehow from somewhere, words filled his mind and a poem sprang from his lips. He sang the words in a boyish soprano:

Old wooden gate, you don’t lead anywhere,

Why in the world are you even there?

You are locked tight, and there is no key.

What is your secret, your mystery?

I do believe that this poem is a sign

That the key will appear on the count of nine.

Alex began to count. One, two, three, four, five. . .. He paused, not wanting to count too fast, wanting to give the gate time to consider his polite request. Then he stopped counting. He feared that when he got to nine, the gate wouldn’t open.

He did not want to fail again.

Don’t stop. Keep counting, Alex. I think it’s going to open, Drew softly said.

OK, Drew, OK, I will. Here goes!

Alex took a deep breath and resumed counting, lengthening his pauses. As he uttered each number, Drew synchronized with a gentle tap on the latch. Tap, Six. . . Tap, Seven . . . Tap, Eight. . . and then Drew and Alex shouted simultaneously, NINE!

Exactly on nine, Drew strongly struck the latch. A beautiful series of notes, like the strumming of a heavenly harp, filled the air. The notes emanated from a large shimmering, silver orb. The golden music drifted on warm currents of summer air, and became visible, vibrating rhythmically as it coalesced into a golden key which sang a lovely chorus. The key drifted through the air to Alex, gently settling upon his lap. It lay there, now silent and waiting. Alex was afraid to touch it.

Pick it up, Alex. Open the gate, urged Drew.

When Alex moved his hand toward the key, a comforting warmth enveloped his hand. His hand became translucent, and he could see the thin bones of his fingers and the bluish veins along the back of his hands. The key pulled on his hand, like a magnet upon a nail.

Alex! Don’t just sit there! Pick it up and open the gate, Drew yelled. He reached over and grabbed the key. His hand became translucent, just like Alex’s had. The sight of his hands’ veins and bones was shocking to him. He threw the key back onto Alex’s lap.

The key rose from Alex’s lap and floated right before his eyes. Then it slowly drifted away from Alex and toward the silver orb where the music of its creation had originated.

Grab it, Alex! Quick. It’s getting away.

Alex just sat there, spellbound by the sight of a floating, golden key.

Grab it, Alex! Quick. It’s getting away.

Alex reached toward the key with his now solid-looking hand. It did not retreat, but instead moved back to his open hand. As Alex closed his fist around the key, his hand again became translucent. Alex just sat there, staring at his fist, mesmerized again by the view of bones, tendons, and blood coursing through his veins.

You got it! You got it! yelled Drew. What are you waiting for? Unlock the gate.

Alex got up but just stood in front of the gate, no longer sure if he really wanted to open it. Things seemed just too strange and too scary.

Don’t be a scaredy-cat, Alex. Open the gate!

I will. Hold your horses. After a few moments, Alex summoned his courage, inserted the key in the keyhole above the latch, and turned the key. He pushed the thumb press down. The latch lever smoothly raised, freeing the door to open. It groaned and opened just a bit, sounding like an old man pushing his way up from a soft lounging chair. Alex cautiously pushed the gate wide open. As his arm entered the space on the other side of the gate, it became translucent like his hand, all the way to his elbow, and disappeared. Terrified he had lost his arm, he jumped backward and fell. His arm now was intact, having regained its normal appearance.

The silver orb, seeing that the key had been used as intended, disappeared.

We did it, we did it! We opened the gate! Drew shouted.

Alex scrambled to his feet and just stood there, staring. He could not believe his eyes, could not believe that the gate had opened. He’d outgrown magic and wizards and all that Harry Potter make-believe stuff. But music that came from nowhere? A key that made it possible to see into his hand and arm? A floating golden key that unlocked a useless old gate?

And now: an open gateway he was afraid to step through.

Go on, Alex! Drew yelled. Don’t be a scaredy-cat!

Alex didn’t move. He was immobilized by the wonder and fear of it all.

You’re a scaredy-cat, scaredy-cat! Drew shouted.

Alex whispered, No. I’m not. He stepped through the gate.

And disappeared.

Chapter 2

When Alex passed through the gate, he looked down as the earth shuddered under his feet. It was a gentle, rolling tremor that lasted only a few seconds and so brief that Alex was not frightened, though he lost his footing and fell backward. He extended his arms behind him to catch his fall, and the key flew from his hand and landed in a patch of tall grass. He got up, brushed the dust from the seat of his pants, and yelled, Drew, come on! It’s OK.

But there was no sign of Drew or Otis. They must have run down the hill and gone home. Alex stepped around the gate and started down the hill.

Then he heard a voice calling to him in a strange language

Old Mr. Raz was sitting in an antique wooden roll-back swing on his deck, smiling and gesturing to Alex to come up the hill. He invited him in a voice that floated softly upon the wind.

Alex had no idea what Mr. Raz had said. It sounded like gibberish, but Raz’s repeated gestures made it clear he wanted him to come up and see him. Alex had always regarded Mr. Raz as harmless, but mysterious. I should go meet him, he thought, his curiosity pushing aside any concerns he had about Raz. He’d always wanted to know more about the strange old man. Now was his chance. Just think what I can tell my friends at school! He scrambled up the hillside and climbed the steps to the deck. Raz stood up and greeted him with a big grin.

Mr. Raz, what language is that? I don’t understand a word of what you said, Alex exclaimed.

Zar reached into his pocket, removed a small object about the size of a television remote with a small monitor on one side and attached to a golden cord, then hung it around Alex’s neck, and said,

You’re talking crazy. I’m going home!

Zar had failed to turn on the Debabeler. He reached over and pushed the switch to on. Its light changed from red to green. How’s that? Can you understand me now? he asked.

Yes, but the way you were talking was really weird.

I am sorry, Alex. I forgot to turn it on. Just click the switch to on when you want to speak or understand Htraean. The light will turn green. What I said was, on Htrae, always wear the Debabeler and turn it on. It translates Htraean into English and English into Htraean. When you speak, Htraeans will hear your English as Htraean, and you will hear Htraean as English. In time, you will learn Htraean and not need the Debabeler any longer. You can read Htraean by scanning it with the Debabeler. Until you master Htraean, just make sure the Debabeler is turned on so you can understand Htraean and be understood by Htraeans. If you do not want a Htraean to understand you, click it off, the light will turn red, and your English will remain English. But remember, if it is turned off, you will not understand anything a Htraean is saying.

Mr. Raz, I don’t understand, who are you? Where am I?

"Please, you don’t have to say Mr. Just call me Zar."

Who are you, Mr. Raz or Mr. Zar?

I’m both. Zar is my Htraean name. Raz is my Earthly name. And if you do not mind, I would like to call you by your name in Htraean.

What is it in Htraean?

It is Alex spelled backward: Xela. Pronounced Zhela.

I don’t care how you pronounce it. That’s not my name. My name is Alex, not Zhela or Zela. Call me Alex. A-l-e-x!

Of course, Alex. Now to answer your question. I am the Gatekeeper. Here on Htrae, I am Zar. On Earth, I am Raz. I am Zar and I am Raz. I am one and both.

Are you God?

Oh, goodness no. I am just the Gatekeeper. But I do have the ability to know what is going to happen. I knew you would be visiting me here in Htrae. It was prophesied. When you sang at the gate, Mā-I fulfilled the prophecy of the Ancients that a stranger from far away yet astronomically close would summon the golden key, open the gate, and enter Htrae. It was brave of you to open the gate. But of course, you did not know you were entering a different world. Well, really, a different universe.

I don’t understand! Who is Mā-I? What is Htrae?

Mā-I is the Creator. Htrae and Earth are mirror planets, among millions of mirror planets in mirror universes. Mā-I created them. Htrae is Earth’s twin, but in reverse, a mirror image. The gate joins the mirror worlds of Htrae and Earth. When you stepped through it, you entered Htrae. Eternities ago, I had a vision—maybe it was a dream, I just do not know—but in whatever it was, Mā-I told me to build the gate. A blueprint-like vision of the gate etched my mind. It stayed with me until I finished building it.

Eternities ago? How many years is an eternity? I know it’s a lot more than anybody can live. You couldn’t have built it eternities ago.

Ah, but I did. Yet it seems like it was just yesterday. Time passes so fast, and the older I get, the faster the years speed by.

How old are you?

"Older than the