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The oppressed Omoro, an Alien race resembling Africans but with empathic abilities, was almost extinct due to brutal invaders to their planet centuries earlier. Kiyama chronicles the journey and tests of the neurosynths Kanuwe, Januka, and their brother Malaru, as they hasten in their attempt to fulfill their destiny of repopulating a new virgin planet, the Omori-na, in a ritual known as the " Kiyama " or "Resurrection." Kanuwe discovers herself to be psychically stronger than both of her siblings in her struggles to come to terms with her past and future heritage.
Kemp-Jones has done it again by breathing life into new powerful characters, races, and cultures in this poignant and moving story. From the beautiful and moral Omoro to the sadistic and decadent Uhtari, an ugly piglike race, the author creates a wondrous universe filled with hope, depravity, infinite possibilities and deadly dangers. The plot unfolds with the psycho-genetic birth of Kanuwe and heightens with the emprisonment of Januke by Uhtari slave-drivers, one of many tests of their leadership skills.
Quarterfinalist - Writer's Network Screenplay & Fiction Competition
Finalist in the Writemovies.com competition
A golden tide of consciousness trickled into my mind. Darkened so long by the fog of oblivion, the concept of my own being did not come easily. A misty blue aurora infused me with life, awareness dawning on me with each passing breath. The rhythm I thought was the beating of my heart echoed from a distant place, the sensuous cadence somehow comforting. Voices ebbed and flowed like the surging ocean, the harmonious chanting embracing me with loving arms. I basked in its sublime glow and allowed myself to be nurtured by a wondrous sense of well-being.
Images floated through my mind like the falling leaves of an alien landscape dimly etched in my awakening memory. A veil of light surrounded recollections of a gleaming lake, a child's smiling face, a crackling bonfire. My nostrils twitched to the musky smell of smoke and the perfume of nightbloomers. Yet lurking beyond was a writhing darkness that hurled images at me of cold, amphibious eyes, a sobbing woman and a ravaged landscape. The contradiction alarmed me. In the ancient world of my ancestors, conflict coexisted with harmony, pain coexisted with joy.
Words trembled on my lips but fell into silence. With a heaving sigh, I tentatively opened my eyes to the silken luminosity of the dissipating aurora, the focus sharpening, but not my immediate comprehension. The images vanished, but left lingering shadows in my mind. I stretched and flexed within the confines of the chrysalis that bore me, my limbs responding fluidly. Curious, I explored the undiscovered terrain of my body. I reached out with long, graceful fingers and traced a pleasing undulation of lithe, supple muscles set off by gleaming ebony skin. Devoid of hair, the texture was so smooth it almost reflected the ambient light. Small, taut breasts thrust proudly upwards, my belly a flat plane. Slender hips flared into slightly protuberant buttocks. A mane of black wiry hair brushed my shoulders. I grasped its coarse fullness and felt its weight in my hands. An innate sense of womanhood infused me as I acknowledged my femininity.
A sensation against my skin no more than fleeting caresses drew my gaze. Indistinct, sexless faces entombed in spectral canyons of amniotic tanks watched as I shifted within the translucent boundary of the chrysalis. I felt no fear, only a persistent curiosity as I rose from a soft, pneumatic cushion. My questing hands touched a warm, resilient surface above me. It contracted like rippling water, startling me. Hesitantly, I reached for it again. The surface yielded to my fingers, its moist, gelatinous texture quivering. I placed my palms flat against it and felt a faint pulse beat through my skin.
A faint reflection stared back at me. Liquid black eyes gazed dreamily beneath delicately arched brows. I pressed my fingers to my face and with mild shock, realized I was looking at myself. Tracing a pattern across a flawless complexion, I savored the sensuous fullness of my lips, their slight upturn hinting at a wistful, secret smile. The swell of my nose was a subtle slope, my ears fine and sculpted.
I recoiled as something cool brushed against my shoulders. A vague sussuration rose in my mind. I turned to the watchful faces and shuddered at the tingling embrace of their directed energy. The power seemed contained mostly in their eyes; the remaining features nothing more than random etchings left to fade in the light. Phrases danced through my mind, the words at once familiar yet meaningless, the tongue a flowing, mellifluous chant.
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