PEKOs Blog...the tides of everyday living.: AUTHOR INTERVIEW

PEKOs Blog...the tides of everyday living.: AUTHOR INTERVIEW:   What is the name of the book and when was it published? HALF A LION by PALLE E.K. OSWALD published on January 27, 2022. What’s the boo...

An Excerpt from my upcoming debut novel HALF A LION

 

Below is an excerpt from my upcoming debut novel HALF A LION. Stories and songs have been favored staples of the oral African traditions passed down the generations. In this book, I combine two of my great loves; history and poetry. Happy reading and watch this space.

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Mansah loosened his sword in its scabbard and checked the arrows in his quiver. Then he wrapped his robe tighter around himself and settled down to listen to a group of warriors chant A Song of Blood and Feathers.

“Long ago, lived a warrior with dreams untold

With hair of glowing coal, eyes of a fiery gold

His blade was fine and bow of pine

Into the darkness, he braved the cold

 

The White Garden held a fate unknown

 For what was beyond, he longed to own

A haunted boy ached for honor's sake

 And in the jungle, you wish you take

 

Blood on stones, pinch of scathing daggers

The warrior climbed, each step on weak boulders

The Garden fought back with flashes in the dark

Yet willing hearts triumph where strength staggers

 

Under the moonlit shower, the injured bird lay

Words unhurried, to beg and pray

For a chance to see the eagle dance

And the moon blinded in a feathery trance

 

 

Far away, a dozen winged beasts soared

And in the twilight, the great warrior roared

They came swooping to answer a master's call

Where no one dares, there you will find your all.”

 

“Feels good to hear the words of our forefathers,” someone said behind him.

Mansah looked over his shoulder to see the chief frowning. He had not even heard the man approach. He sighed. “The songs always talk of glorious victories, but never of untimely deaths, my chief,” he said, thinking of the tribesmen who had screamed for help as the bushfires seized them.

Kheng sat down beside him, his armor creaking. “The songs are not meant to remind us of death, but to celebrate a great life,” the chief said. “The skyfather makes some people faster, some louder, some stronger. But in death, one skeleton is the same as the other. It is the gift of life that matters, the hearts given to each of us, and what we do with it. When it is all done, the skyfather will ask you what you did with that strong heart he gave to you, that keen nose, that sharp eye. The songs of the tribe will answer for you.”

Debut novel: Half A Lion

 

UPDATE: Half A Lion

I hear only good things from my beta readers 📚 It is quite humbling. To think the young black kid who would split open his toes playing soccer barefoot on the stony streets of a ghetto now leaves footprints in the minds of readers all over the world. We rise only as high as our dreams. Dream big dreams 🧠

It is an honor to add to the plethora of African literature. It might be a drop in the river, but I believe without it, the river would be missing something. I always had a fascination with the origin and meaning behind our African culture and legends. I created a world from it.

Fun fact: At the risk of sounding like a misogynist, with all the gore and dark themes in this manuscript, I had a secret worry it was going to put off women. I'm glad I was so wrong. The most lavish praises have been from you 🙈

A summary of the manuscript:

The jungle simmers with discontent, inhabited by desperate people in an insufficient land. In the middle of the unrest is the Lion tribe, ruled by a family as brutal and ruthless as the land they inherited. However, the Lion chief is dead. Across wastelands and sweeping forests, the tribes stake their claim. 

It is a tale of shamans and warriors, chiefs and wanderers, shapeshifters and bleak omens. Here, a disinherited Prince wants the loyalty of sworn enemies; a young woman seeks conquest; a tribe of wildebeest riders smell a price; a fourteen-year-old boy undertakes a perilous journey to find his way back home. 

As folklore comes alive and old spirits walk the mountains, amid tragedy and victory, honor and betrayal, everyone must gamble for that most elusive place of all - survival

Concept art by Byron J. Hamilton 

#HalfALion #writingcommunity #writersofinstagram #amwriting #writerslife #readersofinstagram #readerslife #bookstagram  #bookaddict #bookaholic #bookworm #africanvoices #darkfantasy

More exciting news to come. Watch this space.

2nd Edition THE RED OF SNOW free download

 

Armies move across the board for the agenda of the gods. This time, however, a piece has a mind of its own.

Panak Drabii is the disgraced First Rider of the dragonblood, but he has found something else worth living for. Tal Valor is at the brink of civil war as the port city convulses with assassinations. And once again, the hidden hand of an Empire is at work. Panak must stand in the path of an Emperor and an unleashed god or watch his new world entombed in ice.

Freedom has a price.

Below is the download link.
https://www.4shared.com/office/y6_vM79mei/The_Red_of_Snow.html

FREE COPY The Red of Snow

Armies move across the board for the agenda of the gods. This time, however, a piece has a mind of its own.

Panak Drabii is the disgraced First Rider of the dragonblood, but he has found something else worth living for. Tal Valor is at the brink of civil war as the port city convulses with assassinations. And once again, the hidden hand of an Empire is at work. Panak must stand in the path of an Emperor and an unleashed god or watch his new world entombed in ice.

Freedom has a price.

Below is the download link:

 https://www.4shared.com/office/y6_vM79mei/The_Red_of_Snow.html

For Family's Sake

For better or for worse, but how worse must worse get?

Kante already knew what awaited him downstairs and he was in no mood to deal with it. He looked at his reflection in the bedroom mirror, finishing with a cuff link and adjusting the knot of his tie. He had worked hard for all that he owned, nobody could deny him that. But what was money without any peace of mind? What was all the riches in the world compared to the smile of one's own child? Kante's reflection showed him a sad smile then. With a deep sigh, he picked up his briefcase, walked out the room and down the stairs.

The living room was a massive, dome-shaped chamber and the faint glow of a glass chandelier threw dancing lights against the six polished pillars that encircled the room. Kante made his way between two of them, strolling up to the dinning room where someone was humming. The sound stopped as he came to the doorway.

“Good morning, dear,” Yelu greeted, forcing a smile. Her eyes were red and puffy. She had been crying.

Kante tore away his gaze, his eyes falling on the table between them. On it was a tray of sliced bread, a packet of Lipton tea and honey, a jar of milk and powdered cocoa, a block of butter, a bowl of fruits and a plate of fried eggs.

“What is all this?” he asked.

His wife's smiled faltered a little. “Breakfast.”

“I'm not hungry,” he replied even as his stomach grumbled. “It's too early. I have a long drive to Buea.”

The woman was not deterred. “But you can't travel on an empty stomach,” she said, picking up two slices of bread and reaching for the butter. “Here, eat this at least. You will...”

“Don't,” he snapped, turning away.

“Why?” Yelu called, following him into the living room.

“I am not hungry.”

“You used to be hungry when we got married.”

Kante turned to face her. “Yes, five years ago,” he said and realised his mistake almost immediately. The restraint visibly crumbled behind Yelu's eyes.

“So my cooking isn't good anymore?” she shrieked. “Is that the only thing that isn't good enough? Is that why you are never home? After our conversation last night I thought all this will be behind us, but I see you are determined to forget all that we have been through together, all that I sacrificed for you. I even put my hostess career on hold to be a present wife to you. Even after last night you won't look at me. What more do you want from me?”

“A child.” Both of them looked over to see his mother leaning against a pillar. She was wearing a nightgown of butterfly embroidery and a deep scowl. Their voices must have awoken her. “Give me a grandchild, Yelu,” she went on, “or has the foulness from the hundreds of men you slept with infested your womb?”

“That is uncalled for, Mama.”

“Shut up, Kante. You are just as weak as your father. If you won't say it, I will. The girl is barren, when will you see that? She...”

Yelu had heard enough and she sprinted for the stairs, her face buried in her hands. Kante made to follow but one look from his mother banished the idea.

“Have you received the doctor's call yet?” she asked him.

“He was supposed to have the results last week but he postponed to today instead.”

“Good,” she said flatly. “The sooner I put an end to this fiasco, the better. Now get out of here, and remember to return early. I am leaving for Yaounde tomorrow.”

“I will, Mama,” Kante replied, kissing her good-bye.

It was unseasonably cold as he cruised out of his driveway. He was barely aware of his neighbour honking in greeting as he drove past, his mind only on his failing marriage. Yelu was a good wife and he had tried to be a good husband. But after five years without a child, without even a miscarriage, the pressure had been unbearable. Kante heard the rumours, of how he had sacrificed his unborn children to the devil in exchange for wealth. Nobody said it to his face but he saw it in their eyes, the suspicion. And the most worried of all was his mother, her frustration understandable. He was an only child and, with the memory of a bicycle accident that had seen him impaled by a wheel spoke, her fear was always close to the surface.

Well, though he waited for the doctor's call, he already knew the answer. He was fine, but perhaps the result would give him the excuse to end his unhappy marriage. Surely nobody would fault him then.

Before long, he was driving through the gates of Chariot Hotel.

“Welcome, Mr Kante,” the girl at the desk greeted.

“Thank you, Ebot. Is she here?”

“Yes, sir. Room 25.”

Upstairs, he pushed open the door marked 25 and found himself in a dim room lit by scented candles flickering on a table. Kante remained in the doorway, his eyes darting from the table to the bed, the painting on the wall, a small box in the corner.

“Where are you?” he whispered.

“Here.” She stepped out from the shadows behind the door dressed in a short, silky purple bathrobe.

Kante stared at her silhouetted form, speechless. Her oiled skin shone in the candlelight, her firm breasts with the imprint of their large nipples, the curves of her waist and hip. With a dry throat, Kante closed the door and walked over, kneeling by the bump of her belly. “I missed you, son,” he said, kissing it.

“Son? It's only been two months.”

“It is a boy, I just know it.”

“And is that the only person you missed?”

Kante rose, smiling. “I missed you more, booboo.”

“Prove it.”

Kante pulled her closer, breathing in her sweet perfume, the bathrobe falling to the carpet. She was naked underneath, her skin smooth and warm beneath his fingers. Then he raised her head and found her lips, tasting apples. As she reached for his belt buckle, his phone began to ring.

Caller ID: Doctor Elakou

“I have to take this,” Kante said, turning for the bathroom and answering the call. “Good morning, doctor,” he said as the bathroom door slammed shut.

“Good morning, Mr Kante,” a guttural voice replied on the other end of the line. “Is this a bad time.”

“No, it is fine. I have been waiting for your call.”

“I'm sorry about the delay. I had to retake the test to be certain. Do you mind coming to my office?”

“Sure, but can I will like to know the results first?”

“I will rather we meet, Mr Kante. I am not sure this is a conversation for a phone call.”

Kante bit down on his irritation. “It is fine, doctor. We can talk now and I will come to your office for a copy of the results. I can handle the news, whatever it is.” That is what he said. I can handle the news of my wife being barren, that was what he meant.

“There is good news and there is bad news.”

Even over the phone, Kante could sense the man's hesitation. “Give me the good news first,” he pressed.

“Your wife is healthy, fertile.”

The revelation hit him like a physical force and his grip tightened around the phone like a drowning man holding onto a reed, suddenly at a lose for words.

“Mr Kante?”

“Still here,” he managed to squeeze out the words.

“I am sorry to say it, but you are the problem. I had to run more tests to be certain. There are many causes of these things and I remember you telling me of a childhood accident to your groin. We might need to observe the extent of the damage, if that is the cause. But whatever it is, it has affected the vitality of your sperms. You can't father a child at the moment.”

Kante sagged onto the toilet seat. “Are you sure of this, doctor?”

“I am a hundred percent certain. Some procedures...”

The phone slipped from Kante's numb fingers, clattering to the tiled floor.

“Are you alright, booboo?” his secretary called from the bedroom.

                                                       ***THE END***

By J.E. MFOMBEP

The Red of Snow FREE COPY

Under his hand, his people have grown formidable on the continent of Nordea. Now the great leader is in exile, banished for going against the Denrabu dogma by choosing peace over war.
Hiding in a neighbouring city, Panak would be drawn into the politics of a different world, where battles are won or lost through wit and cunning. And the war he had tried to avoid would take on a new face, the face of a mindless god intent on swallowing the world. Once more, Panak would have to choose between making peace or war. But if he fights and falls, everything he cherishes will be overrun and entombed in ice

Happy reading.

https://www.amazon.com/Red-Snow-Song-Risen-Book-ebook/dp/B01GSIQ9IO/ref=pd_sim_sbs_351_1?ie=UTF8&dpID=41AzeTyzC6L&dpSrc=sims&preST=_UX300_PJku-sticker-v7%2CTopRight%2C0%2C-50_OU01_AC_UL480_SR240%2C480_&psc=1&refRID=J87GERRNNNAAYAFEPZPN