Explore more of the Secret Realm

Relle, 36x36 Acrylic on Canvas

Kassara, Healer, Spy, 36x48 Acrylic on Canvas

The Divide 24x36 Acrylic on Canvas Kris calls the Divide, Kalendra's Grand Canyon but made of glass.

She's the leader of the Keepers. She's intuitive and can speak to the guardians of the planet, a rare gift. Relle was taken to Earth for her safety when she was six. She stopped the King

Always at the top of her class on Earth, Kassara didn't believe in magic and refused to consider anything that wasn't logical. Until the wizards finally got through to her...

In Magic Invitation, Miguel, the forest guardian, sends the Keepers to different parts of his forest. Each has to find their way out - even if it's the last thing they do. Their minds can work against them there. And they're in a hurry.

The drawing is from Kris Campbell’s Journal. These are the Crystal Pillars. The Keepers cross them, too.

Here's the inspiration behind the Crystal Pillars geography in the Secret Realm.

Years before I wrote the books, I was crossing a glacier on Mount Olympus in Washington State. The sun would soon set when we left the Snowdome lookout. On the way there, we’d carefully walked around the glacier field, hugging the cliff. But, as we returned, tired and rushed, walking back the way we came seemed too far.

A trail through the snow and ice looked well-traveled. It led to dark soil in the center - or so we thought.

It wasn’t. It was the deepest part of the glacier.

The trail soon vanished into ice, dusted with fresh snow, and we were surrounded by glacier crevasses in every direction. Going back was as hazardous as continuing by the time re realized our mistake. Deep blue walls dropped to an icy river far below. Crevasses were hidden beneath fragile snow bridges.

The sun was setting. The temperature was dropping.

There were no more footsteps to follow. One wrong move and it would all be over. More than once, my ice axe found air beneath a false snowbridge.

We made it across, somehow. But the terror of that crossing stayed with me.

It resurfaced while I was drawing landscapes to design the Secret Realm world.

Kris Campbell—fell six thousand feet while crossing the Crystal Pillars. He didn’t know it, but he was lucky. Powerful magic and the Gods of Life themselves, slowed his fall. At the bottom, two Magic Wolves—Jetson and Shantini—carried him to safety.

The magic wolves took him to Sylviana Wolfspirit. She goes by Sylvia and looks more like a model than a powerful mage—but in Kalendra, just like in our world, appearances are rarely what they seem.

You can read their love story in Fire Goddess here.

I've never told this story before.

I was at the art school keeping a simple promise to myself. I wanted to learn to draw.  Isn't that what art school was for?  I learned that I was mistaken.  I was 19.

I'd just spent four months in the Himalayas, living with a family in a farming village. I'd learned the language well enough to talk to people while trekking through the foothills and trading food for shelter in people's homes.

I painted watercolor landscapes and filmed a Super 8 documentary about people's lives.

Back at college, I edited the film and exhibited the paintings in the gallery. Then I left for art school to learn to draw.

I no longer recognized my home country. I could taste the silverware and feel the hum of unnatural lights. Cars were mechanical creatures. And my professors, who understood culture shock and could have helped me through re-entry, were hundreds of miles away.

But I needed to learn to draw fluently to paint a fictional world. 

"Drawing the Human Figure from the Imagination" was the first class I attended. I needed that skill.I showed up to the second class with the sketch I wanted to paint. I was prepared.

While I was working, the teacher looked over my shoulder.

Then he cut through my painting - with a razor blade! No one else saw.

"Paint my way or don't paint at all," he said menacingly. It was a threat.

I tried his method. It was boring, but I learned it.

Then someone stole my watercolors, brushes, and paper out of my school studio. I chose to see it as a gift—an opportunity to start fresh. I bought some acrylics and cheap panels. I painted five tall, narrow panels to represent the memory of a sunset in Nepal.

I was painting my way again and grounding myself. It felt good to do personal work outside of class.

The teacher was paying attention. The next day, the teacher brought the entire class into my school studio. He ordered his three favorite students—all boys—to "fix the paintings." They destroyed all five panels, scraping the paint, bending the boards beyond repair, competing for his approval. The class watched my horrified reaction as my positive memory of the sunset in Nepal lay in ruin.

I was grateful that the watercolors I'd painted in Nepal were safely stored under my dorm room bed. These five panels were gone.

By week five, I stopped caring what they thought. I had come here to learn to draw, not to be broken. I threw the damaged paintings away—and focused on my own goals.

But first, I re-enrolled in my real college.

Then I relaxed, took time to admire the high-quality portraits students had abandoned. They were better than works I'd seen in museums. And yet—there they were, strewn randomly down the halls - forsaken. 

I understood the students' pain. They were brilliant and didn't deserve this school either. I had to find another way.

Richard worked in the studio next to mine. He'd seen the assaults—and stayed off their radar. His goal was to teach art to middle schoolers. He generously shared years of knowledge enthusiastically. I'll always be grateful.

Richard told me that the "real classes" were held at a coffee shop off campus. Teachers and students alike avoided what I'd experienced. The shadow school was safe.

My clear goal was my anchor. Richard and his friends had all found another way, too.

I returned to my college and studied anthropology. I didn't even know what it was—but those were the people who had selected me to live in Nepal. I had to declare my major, and if they chose me for that life-changing experience, it must be the right one.

When I confided in my anthropology professor about what happened at the art school, she looked at me with concern and said, "That was a crime."

It sure felt like one.

To this day, my colors come from the Himalayan shrines I experienced in the foothills of Nepal.

I moved on. Now that several novels that belong to my art are complete, I'm ready to share.

Crystal Falls 48 x 24 Acrylic on Canvas

Relle finally recovers in Magic Invitation from a poisoning, and they're back on the trail. At the top, they see a city in the cliff? Is it a city or a cliff? It's Wizandor Village.

24 x 18 Untitled. From The Waterlands 2017

“We’re taking a Spirit Trail,” Kris said, his voice low, almost conspiratorial. “Here’s how it works. Think of one or two things you loved about the Waterlands when you were there. Feel yourself there again. Concentrate until it feels real.”

Jaime closed his eyes. The incredible rush of river water, the sunlight on his back, the thrill of finding a special, magical stone in the river—he let those sensations wash over him until the memories pulsed and felt alive.

“Dearest Maiden of the Forest,” Kris murmured into a crystal unlike any Jaime had ever seen. It was made from the heart of a petrified tree, crystallized and shaped into a prism of clear amber. It glowed faintly in Kris’s hand. “I will arrive with my nephew, Jaime, to visit.”

Kris slipped an arm around his nephew's shoulders. “Now. Turn those wonderful memories even brighter. Stronger. We’ll stand right here, and she’ll take us to where she is. This is a Spirit Trail the Maiden, and I made together. It’s our secret—and now it’s yours, too.” His smile shone with boyish excitement.

Jaime’s heart raced. He was about to walk a secret trail with his uncle to meet the Maiden herself. Childhood dreams stirred inside him. He clung to the memory of the river and the Easy Stone he'd selected. It gleamed in his hand.

Light bloomed for a second, then everything went back to normal. But when Jaime opened his eyes, there was a golden channel of light pouring down through the forest canopy. Leaves, pink and white, shimmered like stained glass overhead. Before them stretched a narrow river, cliffs rose on either side, and at its end, a waterfall roared.

“This is the Secret Falls,” Kris whispered. “It’s a treasure.” His grin widened.

“Maiden, my dear,” Kris said reverently, “my beloved nephew is here to know you.”

And then she appeared.

And excerpt from: Lost City, book 2, Keepers of the Secret Realm

Secret Falls 24 x 12 Acrylic on Canvas, Barbara Ferrier