The Prophecy of Three, The Keys of Time, by Sam Whitehouse

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Last Friday teenwriter Sam Whitehouse shared a short story with us. If you missed it and you’d like to read it, click HERE.

Today, we’re featuring his book at Amazon. Please take a minute to encourage this young writer.

Here’s a blurb about the book:

A new darkness is rising. Myth and legend will become reality. Three teenagers must embrace a new destiny. Join them in an epic battle. 

Not many fourteen year olds can say that they are the subject of an ancient prophecy. Fewer still can say that they have inherited the powers of a wizard and a responsibility for the fate of the world. Simon, Evelyn and James are three who can. From the moment they learn that they are the subjects of a prophecy made by Merlin long ago, they are thrown into a war against the nefarious witch, Morgana. A witch whom prophecy states they will one day defeat. 

Now, the three new friends must learn to harness their newly discovered magic under the guidance of Falamir, a descendant of Merlin’s apprentice. If that wasn’t enough already, the portended three must hunt down the keys of time that are hidden across Britain. For with these keys, Morgana will gain the ability to travel to the past and eliminate Simon, Evelyn and James and alter the course of the future. Pursued by the witch and the dark forces that ally themselves with her, the three friends must battle for their lives, for the future of the fracturing magical world and the world they left behind. 

Magic, power hungry witches, terrifying creatures, time travel, averting an impending magical apocalypse: not exactly the life of your average fourteen year old.

If you love Harry Potter and Percy Jackson then this action packed new series is for you. 

Look out for book two, The Demon’s Hunt, coming Summer 2013…

Interested in reading more? Here’s an excerpt from the book:

Everything changed for Simon Falke the first time he fell through the fire.

Hot wind blasted his face, forcing his screwed eyelids open and he recoiled helplessly as flames grew up like desperate fingers from the darkness. Through stinging, blurring tears, Simon saw that he seemed to be standing in thin air. The growing fire now swirled high and undulating around him. Then, with no more warning than a lurching sensation in his stomach, Simon was pitched backwards, and the space that had once felt solid beneath his feet, gave way.

A yell escaped him, muffled by the roaring wind. The flames stretched away, flickering back into the gloom. The heat went with them, and an excruciating chill took its place, thickening in the air and erupting Simon’s entire body in goosebumps. He grappled desperately as he fell, but his scrabbling fingers met only cold air and darkness. He was turning and rolling, eyes shut again for fear of what he might see. Then all of a sudden the gushing wind ended. Had he stopped? Daring only now to open his eyes, he found that he was floating inches above a rough stone floor that had appeared out of the nothingness beneath him.

The musty smell of earth filled his nostrils as he hovered for a moment, quite unable to move. Then voices, rendered into echoes, sounded somewhere behind him and in his distraction Simon hardly noticed as he dropped to a gentle rest on the ground.

“Are the rumours true, she has vanished?” The voice trembled with the onset of panic.

“I am afraid so.” The second speaker must have been suffering from some illness for his voice was raspy.

“How did she manage to escape the Elders?”

A laugh, devoid of any humour, was the reply before the second voice spoke again. “The Elders underestimate her,” said the hoarse voice. “I wouldn’t be surprised if she meant herself to be captured. As to why, I can but speculate.”

“And what of her book?”

“We need not worry about that.”

Simon rose from his spread eagled position. He dusted off the grit sticking to his sweaty palms. Nausea struck him and he clamped his eyes shut until it passed. As he blinked away the dancing spots of white light from his vision, he glanced around. He could see no people, no sign of the speakers he had heard. From what he could make out he was in a long tunnel that stretched away from him on both sides. A dim light was gradually vanishing in the distance to his left, as though coming from a candle or lantern being carried away. But whoever was bearing the light was too far away- obscured by shadows- for Simon to see.

Despite the trembling in his legs and the threat of another pang of nausea, Simon relented to his curiosity and broke into a run. He wanted to catch up with the figures who were taking the last tendrils of their light with them before he was left in darkness. He couldn’t explain his curiosity, he just knew whatever the speakers were discussing was important.

The air grew chillier so Simon pulled the hood of his jumper up and shoved his hands into his jean’s pockets. As he moved further through the tunnel, the light grew brighter again and he could make out more of the passing details as he jogged along. High stone walls veered up on either side of him, cracked and crumbling in places, leading up to an elegant, fluted ceiling overhead. The floor beneath his feet looked to have once been paved, but dust and dirt obscured all but a cracked and broken few of the slabs.

Simon passed unlit torches that rested in rusted brackets on the walls. Overhead, cobweb engulfed candelabras hung from the ceiling on ancient chains, creaking in the cold breeze gusting down the tunnel. The place looked to once have been grand, thought Simon, as he increased his pace past a crumbling mural. That unexplainable curiosity still urged him to keep up with the figures and another burst of speed later he smiled as the light ahead became much brighter. The sound of the voices drifted out of the soft whining of the wind. Simon slowed down as he approached a branch in the tunnel.

“Master, what do you wish me to do?” Simon heard the younger voice say.

“I ask of you only one thing… you know that my passing is imminent,” the old voice said, “and that with every minute I grow weaker, she grows stronger. I ask you to find them. There will be three… yes three I am sure. Find them and train them, they are our only hope.”

“But surely you-”

“Please, my friend, you must do this. It will require a great deal of patience and I am afraid this burden may fall to your son when you pass and his son when he, too, passes. I cannot say when they will present themselves. That is beyond my sight. But they will come and when they do they will be our best hope of defeating her. This is my final request of you, my friend… my final and most important request.”

Simon stepped tentatively forward, being as quiet as he could and peered round the bend in the tunnel.

Standing several yards away, splashed into relief by the golden light of a floating ball of flames, were two men. One was tall, a fact his hunched stance did little to disguise. His skin was as wrinkled and pale as dried out old paper, his eyes were a piercing blue and his long beard, as silver as starlight, was now gilded by the fire light. The other figure, whose hand was raised beneath the ball of flames seemingly in control of it, was much younger, though his black hair was speckled with grey and his face was lined with premature wrinkles.

“As you wish,” he said, sad eyes falling to the ground.

The flames shrank as his hand dropped to bob listless and small, allowing the gloom to grow back. The old man turned, hunched and smiling sadly and shuffled away into the tunnels beyond the light. In seconds he had been engulfed by darkness.

Something tickled the back of Simon’s neck as he leaned further round, trying to see where the old man was stumbling away to. He scratched at it but the itch was relentless. There was a sharp tug in his stomach, and he was falling backwards again.  With a roar like a crashing wave, the tunnel was swallowed by darkness. It seemed to fold in around him. The last thing he saw was the sad face of the younger man before a startling white light broke through the blackness and Simon found himself with his head on a desk in a small puddle of his own drool.

Snapping his head up, it was a moment before he realised exactly where he was. Reluctantly, he turned to meet the leering face of his substitute math teacher: Miss Pritchard.

“Having forty winks were we?”

Her face closely resembled that of a vulture and her voice, almost a bark, raised the hairs on the back of Simon’s neck. The heady stench of raw meat lingered in the space between them and it was all Simon could do not to retch as he stared up into her sickly yellow eyes, unable to make his voice work.

Around him, every other member of the class was staring, some fully turned in their seats with looks on their faces that seemed to say, “He’s in for it now.”

Simon looked down at his desk, avoiding Miss Pritchard’s gaze, to find that her sharp yellow nails had actually sank so far into the wood of the table top. Glancing up, Simon recoiled. Her face was now close enough for him to make out the thick, black hairs sticking from her jutting chin and trembling upper lip.

“Detention, mister Falke,” she said. “And if you ever fall asleep in my class again…” she left the threat hanging and turned sharply on her heels. She marched back to the front of the classroom with a gait far from that expected of a woman of her age. For the rest of the lesson she threw hateful looks across at Simon, as if daring him to fall asleep again. But that was something Simon had absolutely no intention of doing.


Wow, I would not want to have Miss Pritchard for a teacher! To read more of Sam’s book, check it out at Amazon HERE.

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