Take heed!

Deities can be naive, but must not be toyed with.

Wanjagra – the blacksmith – threatens his chief and has captured the affections of a goddess.

His daughter, the genius named Migaire, is undeterred by cruel social convention in her quest for knowledge.

Shei, the blind girl, becomes the catalyst for a war when the truth of her birth is revealed.

And Wayu, the huntress from the Valley of Corpses, must fight an invading army to keep her lover safe.

Will the intelligent outcasts prevail over the might and numbers of a desperate enemy?


Warning: this story contains potentially disturbing scenes.



- SAMPLE CHAPTER -

1

Ripples


The river seemed to match the rhythm of the blood drumming in Wayu’s marked chest. A wooden comb had pulled her jet black hair into a thick mane beneath the reassembled crocodile’s jaw that seemed to grow out of her scalp. The hunter did not intend to weave through thickets in search of prey, and therefore had no need for braided or covered curls.

Her eyes narrowed to better judge the size of the host that had marched across the cursed green plains to meet her. Behind the tall, sinewy hunter was a field of blackish-grey rocks. The newcomers had been atop the mountain and knew that beyond the harsh wasteland was a lush forest untouched by man.

It was clear they intended to speak, but would not dishonour the Goddess by shouting across the channel. Crows squawked in the distance.

The lone figure reached for her bow; the men aimed their weapons. A cloud passed before the sun, whose rays seemed keen to stay on their side of the water.

Scarlet butterflies – those spoken of in hushed tones around fireplaces – appeared behind and around the hunter. The men tensed their muscles as the ground shook. The butterflies expanded, until it became clear those weren’t winged insects at all: but eyes.

Growing ever larger; attached to beasts made of stone.

Living statues that spat fire and shook the ground when each foot, claw or tail touched the soil.

Wayu rested her bow and quiver upon the ground with back turned to the approaching giants. She found her spear, whose hilt tapped surface of the black water flowing before her.

The liquid on most days would flow clear on one side and dark on the other, but the closer the newcomers’ feet came, the more its inky half spread.

The ripples turned to bubbles, and the gathering on the green bank moved back in alarm as the hunter glided across the river without a single drop touching her rough leather sandals.

They snapped into semi-circular attack formation when the giant stone hippo’s head broke the surface and stopped to let the strange woman dismount.

She strode past the soil and onto the first blades of grass. The people took careful steps away from her; eyes wary of the freak of nature that had served as ferry.

The hippo swam back to the middle of the river and – like its brethren on the dark banks – decided to watch.

The Wanjagra were not welcome.


- ABOUT THE AUTHOR -

BOOKS


Biography

Kiko Enjani once made a drum out of a mangled plastic bucket. There followed a series of events, ending with the 9-year-old percussionist's exile to the local library.

After reading everything in the science fiction and fantasy section, Kiko moved to different countries with their parents before settling in Nairobi, Kenya.

They have tried their hand at game development, data entry and music production while pursuing several courses in design.


A Coder Who Writes

Kiko makes themselves useful to other peoples' enterprises when not writing.


  • View their portfolio •  


Books

Click on a cover to read more about each project.



Take heed!

Deities can be naive, but must not be toyed with.

Wanjagra – the blacksmith – threatens his chief and has captured the affections of a goddess.

His daughter, the genius named Migaire, is undeterred by cruel social convention in her quest for knowledge.

Shei, the blind girl, becomes the catalyst for a war when the truth of her birth is revealed.

And Wayu, the huntress from the Valley of Corpses, must fight an invading army to keep her lover safe.

Will the intelligent outcasts prevail over the might and numbers of a desperate enemy?


Warning: this story contains potentially disturbing scenes.



- SAMPLE CHAPTER -

1

Ripples


The river seemed to match the rhythm of the blood drumming in Wayu’s marked chest. A wooden comb had pulled her jet black hair into a thick mane beneath the reassembled crocodile’s jaw that seemed to grow out of her scalp. The hunter did not intend to weave through thickets in search of prey, and therefore had no need for braided or covered curls.

Her eyes narrowed to better judge the size of the host that had marched across the cursed green plains to meet her. Behind the tall, sinewy hunter was a field of blackish-grey rocks. The newcomers had been atop the mountain and knew that beyond the harsh wasteland was a lush forest untouched by man.

It was clear they intended to speak, but would not dishonour the Goddess by shouting across the channel. Crows squawked in the distance.

The lone figure reached for her bow; the men aimed their weapons. A cloud passed before the sun, whose rays seemed keen to stay on their side of the water.

Scarlet butterflies – those spoken of in hushed tones around fireplaces – appeared behind and around the hunter. The men tensed their muscles as the ground shook. The butterflies expanded, until it became clear those weren’t winged insects at all: but eyes.

Growing ever larger; attached to beasts made of stone.

Living statues that spat fire and shook the ground when each foot, claw or tail touched the soil.

Wayu rested her bow and quiver upon the ground with back turned to the approaching giants. She found her spear, whose hilt tapped surface of the black water flowing before her.

The liquid on most days would flow clear on one side and dark on the other, but the closer the newcomers’ feet came, the more its inky half spread.

The ripples turned to bubbles, and the gathering on the green bank moved back in alarm as the hunter glided across the river without a single drop touching her rough leather sandals.

They snapped into semi-circular attack formation when the giant stone hippo’s head broke the surface and stopped to let the strange woman dismount.

She strode past the soil and onto the first blades of grass. The people took careful steps away from her; eyes wary of the freak of nature that had served as ferry.

The hippo swam back to the middle of the river and – like its brethren on the dark banks – decided to watch.

The Wanjagra were not welcome.


- ABOUT THE AUTHOR -

BOOKS


Biography

Kiko Enjani once made a drum out of a mangled plastic bucket. There followed a series of events, ending with the 9-year-old percussionist's exile to the local library.

After reading everything in the science fiction and fantasy section, Kiko moved to different countries with their parents before settling in Nairobi, Kenya.

They have tried their hand at game development, data entry and music production while pursuing several courses in design.


A Coder Who Writes

Kiko makes themselves useful to other peoples' enterprises when not writing.


  • View their portfolio •  


Books

Click on a cover to read more about each project.