Nur wer aufgibt, hat schon verloren
Peter Freund - Laura und das Geheimnis von Aventerra

ie Harry-Potter Fans sind es in der Zwischenzeit leid: Sobald ein neuer Fantasy-Roman auf dem Buchmarkt auftaucht, wird sofort vermutet, dass er ein würdiger Nachfolger ihres Lieblings-Buchhelden werden könnte. Doch bei Peter Freund und seinem Debüt "Laura und das Geheimnis von Aventerra" liegen die Dinge anders. Laura Leander hat das Format, neben Harry Potter zu bestehen. Vielleicht wären die beiden ja sogar Freunde, wenn sie sich begegneten.

Laura ist eine durchschnittliche Schülerin, wobei Mathe zu ihrem absoluten Katastrophen-Fach gehört. Zusammen mit ihrem schlauen Bruder besucht sie das Internat Burg Ravenstein. Besonders freut sie sich auf ihren dreizehnten Geburtstag. Endlich wieder einmal richtig feiern. Doch dann kommt alles anders. An ihrem Freudentag wird sie in ein großes Geheimnis eingeweiht. "Denn das ist der Tag, an dem einige wenige Menschen in das große Geheimnis eingeweiht werden, das hinter dem Anschein der Dinge verborgen liegt und dennoch das Leben aller Menschen bestimmt."

Neben unserer Welt existiert eine Parallelwelt mit dem Namen Aventerra. "Aus dieser geheimnisvollen Welt der Mythen, die jenseits des menschlichen Wissens liegt, haben einstmals Gut und Böse ihren Weg auf unsere Erde gefunden, denn auf Aventerra stehen sich die Krieger des Lichts und die Mächte der Dunkelheit im ewigen Kampf gegenüber und streiten erbittert um die Vorherrschaft." Im Augenblick scheinen die dunklen Ritter die Macht an sich zu reißen. Laura hat als eine Wächterin zwischen den Welten eine ganz besondere Aufgabe zu erfüllen. Nur wenn sie den Kelch der Erleuchtung findet, kann das Gute auf Aventerra und damit auch auf der Erde, siegen.

Laura glaubt es nicht, ausgerechnet sie soll das schaffen. Doch sie bekommt von vielen Seiten Hilfe und unverzüglich packt das mutige Mädchen die fast unlösbare Aufgabe an.

Peter Freund hat eine Vielzahl von Elementen aus den Harry-Potter-Romanen in seine Geschichte eingebaut: das Internat, ein besonderer Geburtstag, die Mutter stirbt bei einem Verkehrsunfall, jede Menge Zauberei und Magie und natürlich den uralten Kampf zwischen Gut und Böse. Eine weitere kleine Anlehnung gibt es im Druck bei Michael Ende und seinem Klassiker "Die unendliche Geschichte." Die Handlungsorte Aventerra und die Erde sind farblich durch rot und grünen Druck deutlich zu unterscheiden. Ganz besonders schön ist die Buchausstattung von Tina Dreher mit bunten Vorsätzen und vielen Schmuckinitialen.

Die Romanhandlung erzählt Peter Freund, der in der Film- und Fernsehbranche arbeitet, zwar außerordentlich spannend, doch er spart glücklicherweise mit blutrünstigen Einzelheiten. Die meisten Figuren der normalen Welt, zum Beispiel Laura und ihr Bruder Lukas, finden auf Aventerra ihre jeweilige Entsprechung. Ganz sicher ist, die Kinder werden Laura mögen, denn sie könnte ihre Banknachbarin in der Schule sein.

Schon bald wird Lauras Geschichte in den Kinos gezeigt. Währenddessen können sich die kleinen und großen Leser schon auf die weiteren Bände der Serie freuen. Bis dahin ist dann sicher auch Band fünf von Harry Potter erschienen.
manuela haselberger     Lesealter ab 13 Jahren

	Peter Freund - Laura und das Geheimnis von Aventerra
	© 2002, Bergisch Gladbach, Ehrenwirth Verlag, 510 S., 18.00 € (HC) © 2002, Bergisch Gladbach, Lübbe, 4 CDs., 19.90 € (CD) © 2002, Bergisch Gladbach, Lübbe, 4 MCs., 19.90 € (MC)

... reinlesen Tiefe Nacht hatte sich über Ravenstein gesenkt. Die schmale Sichel des abnehmenden Mondes stand bleich am fast wolkenlosen Himmel und tauchte die Burg in ein fahles Licht .... ach was Bookinist & Buchluchs meint ... ihr könnt doch alle Englisch... zur Abwechslung ´mal den Rest der Leseprobe nicht auf Deutsch, sondern in englischer Sprache .... zeigt die Seite bloß nicht eurem Englisch-Lehrer ... der kommt sonst noch auf eine hundsblöde Idee ... Chapter 7: Secrets of The Night. Deepest night had descended over Ravenstone. The waning moon's narrow sickle hung palely in the almost cloudless sky, and bathed the castle in a soft light. From the distant direction of Hangman's Wood, came the cry of an owl, before the deep chimes of the clock tower echoed through the silence. It was midnight. Laura Leander lay in her bed and slept. Her breathing was soft and steady. Gentle snoring emanated from Kaja's bed, and the alarm clock on her bedside table ticked away quietly. The moonlight peered through the curtain and cast ghostly shadows on the wall. Suddenly a strange noise broke the tranquillity. It sounded like the howl of a wolf. Laura moaned quietly and turned over in her bed, as if the gruesome howl was disturbing her sleep. At the same moment, the latch on her door was depressed noiselessly. The door opened with a barely audible creak. A thin strand of light from the corridor fell across the room, before moving up the wall, against which Laura's bed stood. The light grew and grew until it illuminated Laura's face. There was a rustling of fabric. Again the gruesome howling pierced the night, and Laura emerged from her slumber. She opened her eyes, sat up in bed, and leapt back in terror on seeing a dark figure before her. 'No!' Laura wanted to cry out loud, until she recognised her nighttime visitor. 'Miss Morgain?' Laura's face was creased with confusion. The petite teacher was wrapped up in a long cape, and she stood her ground. 'Come with me!' she said without further explanation. 'But.' Laura tried to protest, and Mary Morgain interjected abruptly. 'Please Laura, come with me,' she whispered urgently, before turning on her heel and stepping out into the corridor. Laura stared about for a short moment in distress. What can this mean? she thought to herself, but then found to her surprise that she threw the covers aside and got out of bed. Without actually wanting to, she stood up and pulled on her winter boots. She slipped her red anorak over her pyjamas, and edged her way dazed to the open door. A mysterious force seemed to guide her steps, without her being able to do the slightest thing about it. It was as though a strange power had seized her. As Laura stepped into the hallway, Miss Mary had almost reached the stairs. Something is wrong, Laura thought to herself. Then suddenly she noticed: whereas her own steps were clearly audible, albeit muffled, the teacher was moving without making a single noise. Laura inspected her more closely, and had the impression that Miss Mary wasn't moving her legs at all. It's true that the teacher's cape almost reached the floor, so that neither feet nor legs were visible, but even the cape's heavy material betrayed no sign of movement. There was no rippling of the folds, nothing. The petite teacher seemed to be hovering, and gliding soundlessly and weightlessly towards the stairs. Bizarre, thought Laura, truly bizarre. Only one miserable emergency light was switched on, and the pale moonlight, which now and again glimmered through the windows, was also inadequate to illuminate the long hallway sufficiently. Dark figures flitted in and out of the nooks and crannies of the corridor, like bloodthirsty companions, lying in wait. Although Laura knew it was nothing more than the old suits of armour which were displayed there, she was beset with a constricting sense of alarm. Goose bumps danced over her entire body. Laura was relieved when she finally reached the top of the stairs, which led down to the hall. It was not that she could see any better, just that she had passed all the spooky hollow metal knights. Miss Mary had almost reached the bottom of the stairs. The teacher did not even glance behind her. It was as if she knew that Laura was following. The moonlight poured through the ornamental window above the front door, and shyly exposed the painting on the opposite wall. Involuntarily, Laura turned her gaze on the picture. What she saw gave her the most terrible fright. She stood rooted to the spot and held her breath. For a heartbeat, Laura did not know if she was really awake, or if she was dreaming. All that remained of the painting was the young woman in the white robe. She stared at Laura vacantly through endlessly sad eyes. The big black wolf, which usually lay at her feet, had disappeared without a trace. Laura shook her head in amazement. That is impossible. She must be imagining things. She blinked hard, and rubbed her eyes, but there was still no sign of the wolf. The space at the feet of the white woman was empty. Silva was standing in a meadow all alone, staring vacantly at Laura, as if there had never been a wolf there at all. There could only be one explanation. Someone had painted over the wolf. But why? More to the point, was it even remotely possible in the short time, which had expired since supper? After all, when she had headed across the hallway after supper with Kaja, on the way to their room, the picture had still been unaltered. Just then, Laura heard the howl of the wolf. It seemed to come from the Hangman's Wood behind the parkland. She was definitely right, because she heard it again. What if the wolf had come alive, right out of the painting...? Absurd! Laura was mad at herself. Where would she get such a crass idea? The creaking of the front door jolted her from her reverie. Laura barely saw Miss Mary glide out, so she hurried after her. As soon as Laura reached the fresh air outside, she was greeted by the cold night. The more she sought comfort in the thick anorak, the more she froze. It occurred to her that she would have been better off in her jeans and a thick jumper, but she realised that it was too late for such regrets. Mary Morgain had already reached the outside stairs, and Laura had to hurry just to keep up. She hurried down the steps, past the stone giant, which supported the canopy, and had almost reached the path, which led into the park. It did not occur to her to look around at the giant. Instead, the giant looked at the young girl. He blinked, furrowed his brow in thought and did not let Laura out of his sight. He turned his big head to the side a little, so as not to lose Laura from his line of sight. Yet that which he saw did not seem to cheer him up. Not a bit of it: the stone giant seemed concerned. Very concerned. The narrow path circled the main building of the castle. Laura's anorak shone like a red beacon in the night, while she followed the teacher, who swept on a good twenty metres in front of her. The gravel grated under Laura's boots, the cold damp night air played in her nostrils, smelling of – no, sadly not of snow. It had been Kastor Dietrich who had shown Laura how to detect the smell of snow. Come to think of it, the farmer had taught her quite a few things, like paying attention to the signs of nature, from which the well informed can discern a lot. Now, though, Laura smelt only rotting leaves and decaying wood. At a window on the second floor of the castle, a curtain was pushed aside. It was the teacher's room. The room was dark. Nevertheless, the vague outlines of a shadowy figure, which seemed to be looking attentively down into the park, could be made out behind the glass. Laura did not notice that she was being watched. Then suddenly, she thought she saw movement out of the corner of her eye. She turned her head and glanced over at the main building, but all she saw was the curtain swaying gently back and forth behind the window. The mysterious figure had already vanished. When the young girl turned back to Miss Mary, the latter was just disappearing into a bank of fog, which was drifting across the park. Laura quickened her step. A few moments later, she too was engulfed by the gray mist. It hindered her sight. She could not make out Miss Mary any more, and otherwise not a soul could be seen. The fog thickened. The bushes and shrubs along the path flitted in and out of it like ghostly apparitions. In the distance, a fox barked, and two winged shadows swept noiselessly over Laura's head. The young girl started, but the shadows had already disappeared again. Laura convinced herself that they had probably been nothing but the couple of owls, which nested in the old oak tree behind the gymnasium, and she pressed on quickly. When she reached a fork in the path, she didn't know which direction to take. She hadn't the vaguest idea whither Miss Mary wanted to lead her. There was no sign of the teacher, so the young girl dithered for a moment, before deciding to turn right. If Laura remembered correctly, the narrow path led to Professor Morgenstern's house, which was situated away from the main building in a quiet corner of the park. Maybe that is the destination of this little excursion, thought Laura timidly, before hurrying on. The fog was now so thick she could barely see more than a few meters. The only thing she was able to make out was the gravel path in front of her. The park's bushes and shrubs were hidden behind a gray shroud. Yet the professor's house failed to appear, even though she was sure she must have reached it by now. The path seemed to have no end. It just kept on receding into the shimmering dimness. It soon became clear to Laura, that she had lost her orientation. She no longer knew where she was. Fear welled up inside her, and although she knew it made no sense, she kept running faster and faster. When the beast rose up in front of her out of the mist, Laura almost screamed out loud, until she realised what the mighty horse was: namely the larger than life statue of Reimar of Ravenstone, which stood in a little square in the middle of the park. Nevertheless, her heart was beating like a jackhammer, as her hesitant steps took her towards the stone monument. The terrible knight had had the statue erected during his lifetime, shortly after his return in 1153 from a crusade, which had kept him in foreign lands for many years. He had probably sensed that after his death nobody would shed a tear for him, let alone erect a memorial. Therefore, he had taken it upon himself to ensure his image survived him, and had commissioned a local sculptor to carve a life like granite portrait of him on his favourite horse. In the darkness, surrounded by sheets of mist, the statue appeared even more gruesome than usual. Laura gazed up timidly at the creepy knight, which bestrode its battle horse in full armour with a mighty sword at its side, looking off into the distance with a grim expression. Reimar must have been a man of unspeakable ugliness, for even this face, its features softened by the sculptor's fear and the knight's vanity, still seemed repellent and grizzly. The eyes hid under the shade of the helmet. Yet that was not the reason why they appeared cold and evil. Reimar's eyes were cold and evil, and even in this stone manifestation, the knight could chill the heart of most of those looking upon him. Even the pigeons seemed to fear him, for they dared not land on his head, let alone sully him. At least that is what Albin Ellerking claimed over and over again. And to be sure, no one had ever seen reason to contradict him. Laura, who was otherwise anything but fearful by nature, experienced an uneasy feeling every time she cast her eyes on the stone knight. However, she found it difficult to look away. She stared transfixed at the statue, when it suddenly turned its head and stared back, straight into her eyes. Laura screamed, retreated a few steps and bumped into someone. She screamed again and turned round to find Miss Mary looking at her quite worriedly. 'What's the matter Laura? Why did you scream?' 'Thethethethe…' was all that Laura could stammer. 'Who?' asked Mary calmly, 'whom do you mean?' Laura looked at the memorial and realised she must have been imagining things again: Reimar of Ravenstone was staring bleakly off into the distance, as usual, as if he lived in another world. A combination of the mist and her own fear must have been playing tricks on her. 'Er…' said Laura awkwardly. 'It…it was nothing.' The teacher took Laura by the hand. 'Soon you will understand, Laura,' she whispered and pulled Laura gently on. 'Now, come along, we are expected.' Laura was happy, when she finally left the giant figure behind her, and turned left onto another path. The fog lifted a little, and now she could see that the gravel path wound its way through the lightly wooded area, behind which lay the ivy covered house of Professor Morgenstern. It was at that moment that it happened. There was a low harsh grinding sound. The stone knight turned its head and looked back at the girl with the red anorak. He narrowed his eyes to the smallest of slits and observed Laura with an evil grimace. It was almost as if he would climb down from his horse and follow her. The way through the pastoral lowlands seemed utterly endless to Morwena. She had been yearning for Hellunyat for the whole ride, and even though her Bihorn had been galloping almost constantly, she was sure the way was longer than usual. She simply could not wait to arrive. When she heard the roar of Thunder River in her ears, she kept hoping that the waters would appear before her at any moment, but a considerable time still passed, before she reached the mighty torrent. The view of the new bridge compensated Morwena to an extent for the nervous longings of the past hours. Even in the darkness of night, the healer could discern from afar that the structure had been completed. Her hopes for a short cut were fulfilled. The wooden span gleamed in the light of the two moons like a promise kept. The bridge stretched across the raging waters proudly and boldly. Thanks to its solid columns and thick planks, it appeared more reliable than most hastily erected nerve janglers, which led travelers in other places to fear for their lives. It gave the impression of being built for eternity. Morwena steered her bihorn impatiently towards the bridge. The water raged so loudly, when she reached the bank, that the howling of the wind and the chirping of the swoopies were drowned out, as were the creepy cries of the nightwhistlers in the lowlands nearby. At the threshold of the bridge, Feenbraut pulled up. She neighed and pawed her hooves. Morwena understood her steed. They had traveled the whole day and half the night, and Feenbraut was exhausted. A rest was long overdue. She caressed the bihorn's neck tenderly and whispered encouragement. 'I know, Feenbraut. I, too, would rather rest, but we must press on. Elysion needs my help, and they are waiting for us impatiently at Hellunyat.' Then, she clicked her tongue, hoping to coax the bihorn forward. But, Feenbraut would not move. She just snorted stubbornly. The two ivory horns on her forehead gleamed in the moonlight. Morwena was surprised. She was not accustomed to such obstinate behavior from her trusty companion. She was wondering whether Feenbraut sensed some sort of danger, when it occurred to her that it must be the new bridge, which was unnerving the bihorn. 'Its all right, Feenbraut.' Morwena stroked the bihorn's neck reassuringly. 'Have no fear. Even though the bridge is new to us, I am sure that it will support us safely.' The bihorn neighed again, and shook her head, without moving from the spot. Morwena was beginning to lose her patience. 'Come now, Feenbraut, enough!' There was agitation in her voice. 'We have no time for this. Every second counts.' Just then, movement on the other riverbank caught Morwena's eye. A dark figure was approaching the bridge. The healer strained her eyes to see better. Judging by her clothes, it was an old peasant woman. She bore a basket on her back. The burden was obviously considerable, for she was bent over and dragging herself with great effort to the bridge. Morwena felt pity in her heart for the old woman, who found no rest, even at night. When the peasant woman reached the bridge, she clasped onto the handrail to support herself, as she crept towards the healer and her steed with tiny steps. 'See, there's no reason to be afraid,' whispered Morwena to the bihorn. Feenbraut snorted and looked at the old woman, who approached with such difficulty. The sight of her seemed to calm the bihorn, and she stepped forward onto the bridge. The healer was relieved. At last, she thought, at last Feenbraut has come to her senses. The Bihorn trotted carefully over the bridge, the sturdy planks barking under her hooves. The waters of Thunder River tore by, the foam of the waves illuminated by the pale light of the moons. The old woman appeared not to notice the Bihorn and her rider. She struggled forwards under the weight of her basket. Even when she was but a short distance away, and must have been able to hear the sound of the hooves, she did not look up. The poor old woman must be deaf, Morwena was thinking, just as the bridge underneath them suddenly dissolved into nothingness. Morwena and Feenbraut were pitched into the deep, affording the healer no time to acknowledge to herself that she had fallen prey to a devilish act of illusion by the powers of darkness. She had so fervently wished for the bridge to be in place, that it had been easy to trick her with an imaginary one. The torrents of Thunder River crashed over Morwena, and the icy cold gripped her body like deadly agony, as the terrible current carried her away. The healer fought her way to the surface with all her strength. She puffed and spit and gasped for air. When Feenbraut's head emerged from the water close to her, she felt a sense of relief. She stretched her neck out over the foaming waves, looking for the old peasant woman, but saw only the basket tossing about in the unforgiving waters. At that moment, Morwena heard piercing laughter from above. It was the laughter of a woman. The healer lifted her gaze, and saw a huge winged creature, hovering over Thunder River, then flying high into the night sky with powerful flaps of its mighty wings. Before she could make out exactly what it was, Morwena was tossed against a rock, which jutted out of the water. As her head smashed against it, she heard a loud crack. Then, everything went blank, and she lost consciousness. übersetzt von Bastei-lübbe-verlag, 2002 Lesezitat nach Peter Freund - Laura und das Geheimnis von Aventerra