Soon I’ll be clicking publish on Yankari! It started out as a short story on superpowers, but very quickly morphed into whatever my main character wanted it to be. She’s very assertive! Now, it’s 55 pages for the printed book, so more of a novella.

I’m opening up for those who want Advanced Review Copies! You all know the deal, I send you the story first, before publication, and you write a review on Amazon (or Goodreads or both!) the day I publish, or as close to it as you can.

Since this is a fairly short work, it shouldn’t take too long and should provide a pleasant evening’s read. Want to know what it’s about? You can email me or post a response if this sounds like something you might like to read and would like an ARC. Here’s the book blurb:

They come, and she watches. They hunt, and she warns.

Nigeria’s Yankari National Park is a place of nature’s wonder. Tourists come and go, leaving with life-changing experiences and memories they will cherish for the rest of their days.

There are others, though. They come to take more than a head filled with memories. They come to take lives and—even worse—trophies.

Olisa doesn’t mind the temporary trespass of the tourists. They’re more or less harmless. The poachers are a different story. Even nature has its breaking point. And so does Olisa, who is more than an eight year old girl. She is Yankari’s voice and its weapon. When the two finally meet face to face, it’s not just her survival Olisa finds herself fighting for, but the survival of all who call Yankari home.

And if that’s not enough…here’s a big old chunk of the first chapter.

One

Olisa remained perfectly still behind a concealing screen of brush, watching. Gentle undulations in the land and the abundant scrub helped to blur her outline, but what helped her most wasn’t a physical thing at all. What kept her hidden was the ignorance of those in the camp she watched. They were busy settling in, exclaiming at the countryside around them or simply unable to imagine they might be being watched.

It was that lack of imagination more than their western clothing, complicated gear or loud braying speech that gave them away as not belonging here in Yankari. Here, everything watched everything else. Every species had its role. Sometimes that role was to eat and for many, eventually to be eaten. Blithe lack of awareness was not an attitude conducive to longevity here in the real world of the African wilds.

Olisa counted heads and gave a nod. Typical. Nothing out of the ordinary. Three porters per hunter, a couple of guides and a game tracker. Most of the workers went about their business, their moves practiced and unexciting, as if this were just another day of earning pay. To be fair, it would seem to be just that for them. Only one porter seemed aware that something wasn’t quite right.

Even now, his eyes darted about at every rustle of leaves or sway of tree branches in the light breeze. The whites of his eyes displayed his nervousness as much as his too-rapid stirring of the pot he tended over a camp stove. Olisa smiled as the guide jerked his hand away when his uncoordinated movements splattered stew onto his hand.

The smile slid from her face when the guide suddenly stood, his head swiveling on his long neck as he looked around, seeking the source of his discomfort. Could he feel that? Olisa looked at the ground and saw no ripples, no spreading circle of scintillating air just above the ground. No, he’s just nervous. But he knows I’m somewhere close.

After another moment of nervous searching, the stirring man sat back down on his little stool, but he did it hesitantly, as if ready to spring back up and run if the need arose. Olisa counted ten long, good breaths before he returned his attention to his pots. His eyes never ceased their roaming, but after a few more minutes, they lingered for longer on his task than on his surroundings. Some of the tension bled out of the air. Olisa remained still and watched, but averted her eyes from the stirring man in case he felt her gaze on him again.

The air was dry and she sniffed as it itched across her skin and sent dust to tickle her nose. Each breath of wind left another layer of fine, dry soil on her, soaking up the sweat that just kept seeping out of her. She grew thirsty just thinking about how much water she was losing.

The rainy season was over but the land was still lush, not yet ready to settle down and rest, not yet ready to conserve what it had for the dry months ahead. The plants were a riot of green in every shade. Flowers thrust greedy faces upward from within the bushes and trees, perhaps sensing their window of opportunity rapidly closing. Olisa could feel water that had fallen weeks ago under the ground beneath her feet. She could sense the water drawing up into the bush in front of her by touching her fingertip to its rough stem.

Touching the plant felt the same way as it did when she touched an arm—just inside the elbow where the skin is thinnest—and felt the blood rushing through a healthy body. Only this was cool and refreshing instead of warm and animal. She quieted her thoughts and touched a finger to the ground—but carefully, holding back all but the barest bit of herself—and sent out the question.

Where are you?

The ripples were tiny ones, just bouncing the loosest grains of dry earth along the topmost layer of soil. The ripples diminished, their heights ever-decreasing as the circle expanded around her, spreading until they were invisible even to her. But still they traveled, so she waited. Soon enough, the answers started coming back.