Book One of The Age of Aikana—an epic fantasy set in a world of cut-throat cities, satyr warriors, and rum-soaked taverns. 💀⚔️
New chapter every Wednesday!
Available Chapters | Buy the Book | Start Reading Book Two
Lowen had decided long ago that making love to a satyr was a perilous business. The helmet of horns curled tightly against Nicanor’s skull made even the simple act of running her hands through his long hair problematic. His monstrously large hooves could easily take a gouge out of her shins, and he had the densely muscled strength to crush her beneath him like a paper doll, but she had loved him for a full year and a day and trusted him like no other.
Nicanor shifted on their bed of moss, pulling her closer to him. She relaxed into the cradle of his arm, breathing in his deep, wildwood scent. Dewy perspiration was caught amongst the fine hairs of his chest, glinting across his skin in the violet dark.
“You are quiet tonight, my love,” he said. “Does something worry you?”
Lowen traced a finger across the soft down of his stomach. “I am anxious not to be missed, but I have no desire to leave.” It was not a complete lie, but the complete truth remained caught at the back of her throat like a sticky barb. She swallowed it back down.
“I understand.”
Aikana hung in the sky above them, dappling the forest with lavender-edged shadows. Lowen should have been celebrating the Changing of the Moons with her people but she was here with her lover, sheltered beneath the fronds of a willow tree on the mossy banks of the Weeping River. The water rushed over stones and boulders, still swollen with the last snowmelt. Leaves rustled in a fragrant spring breeze and somewhere far overhead, a family of wood pigeons called to each other across the treetops.
“I wish we could stay here forever,” she said.
Perhaps they would turn to stone, locked in each other’s arms until the end of time like one of Grandmother’s stories. The forest would creep around them, covering their bodies with moss and winding tender, searching roots through their hair, and she would never have to reveal the secret burning in her chest like a hot coal.
“It will get cold later. Then the prospect won’t be so tempting.”
“You’ll keep me warm.”
He bent to kiss her, cupping her chin in one large hand and bringing her face to his. Lowen pulled away too soon. She sat back and studied his face, half-hidden in night shadows.
“How does this end?”
“What do you mean?” He reached for her again but she didn’t respond.
“I mean, how does this end for us? Will we meet like this for the rest of our lives, in secret and always at night?”
Nicanor looked as if he wanted to laugh but saw the look on her face and stopped himself. “It’s not as if I can wander into Kree and call on you. Your mother is Chieftain of the Wild Scrat. I imagine if I knocked on your door, she would greet me with a spear through the chest.”
“She wouldn’t kill you on sight. The Scrat aren’t murderers. We are friendly with the satyr; we have an alliance.”
“Yes, an alliance only upheld if no laws are broken.”
They sat and looked at each other in silence beneath the creaking limbs of the willow tree. They had never disagreed before. This was as close as they had come to even raising their voices.
“I hate the laws,” Lowen finally said, careful to keep her tone level. The hot coal was twisting in her chest, threatening to jump right from her throat and speak its horrible truth. “I hate our people for making them. Why shouldn’t a Scrat be with a satyr if that is their wish? If I could understand why, perhaps the laws would be easier to follow.”
“I don’t truly understand why, either, but it has always been this way and likely always will. If we were to stop being so careful, we would be punished. We’d never be allowed to see each other again. Why would you risk that?”
Lowen knew she should open her mouth and let her hot, hard little truth fly from it. It hung unvoiced between them, waiting only for her to give it life. She could feel the words forming on her tongue. Then she lowered her gaze and shut her mouth and the words drifted away like smoke spiralling into the ether.
“Lowen?”
“We should run away together,” she said suddenly.
“You know that’s impossible.”
“Surely any obstacle is surmountable if you want something badly enough?”
“How would I move about the world beyond these lands? Satyr are feared in all four corners of Joria. I would be hunted like an animal.”
“I’ve heard of satyr using glamour magicks to disguise themselves,” Lowen argued. “If we could only find a witch willing to—”
“Why should I change my appearance? I shouldn’t have to wear a disguise to protect myself from the hatred of others.”
“No, you shouldn’t have to. But we can’t change the minds of every ignorant person in the world. What we can change are our own futures if we only find the courage.”
“It’s not a question of courage, it’s a question of pride.”
“Sod your pride.” Lowen pushed herself to her feet and cast about for her discarded clothes, pulling them on quickly before turning back to face him. He looked shocked, alarmed by her temper.
“Don’t you want to be with me?” she asked.
Nicanor stood and opened his arms to her. She shook her head.
“Of course, I want to be with you,” he said. “But this situation is very complicated. I don’t think it can be solved by simply running away.”
Lowen stepped away from him. The hot coal was in her mouth now, burning like acid as it finally forced the terrifying truth past her lips.
“I’m pregnant.”
She watched Nicanor’s eyes widen, flinched at his deep intake of breath. The forest fell silent as she waited for him to speak. Even the breeze dropped. Lowen studied her lover's face, searching for consolation or support. His expression was dark and distant.
"Do you have nothing to say to me?" she finally cried.
Nicanor couldn't even raise his gaze to look at her. Biting back her tears, she tore aside the curtain of willow branches and bolted into the forest.
***
Lowen was able to pass unseen into Krenn. The village was as much a part of the forest as the trees themselves but she could hear the drums and pan flutes before she reached the fires of her home. The entire tribe were swarming in the vast clearing at the village centre, gathered around a pyre built so high Lowen had to shield her eyes against the scorching light.
“Lowen,” Talwyn called, hurrying to her side. “I’ve been looking for you, I thought you were going to miss the festival.”
“I’ve never seen such an enormous fire.”
“Yes, your mother has outdone herself.”
Talwyn took hold of Lowen’s hands and began dragging her towards a circle of dancing Scrat whirling and leaping around the fire. “Come, even Jenifer is dancing tonight.”
Lowen searched the ecstatic faces for her sister. It was strange to see Jenifer joining in the celebration of Aikana’s return with such abandon. Her usually serious demeanour had melted away, replaced by a rapture that made her glow in the firelight. Lowen and Talwyn fell into step beside her and she laughed to see them, clapping her hands above her head.
“Blessed night,” she shouted in greeting above the pounding of the drums.
“Blessed night,” Lowen shouted back.
It may have been the Changing of the Moons but Lowen wanted to crawl into bed and pull a blanket over her head. Instead, she concentrated on the drumbeat. The large drums were positioned all around the clearing, each one presided over by a drummer whose hair flew about their heads as they pounded with drumsticks as long as their forearms. Lowen forced herself to move to the rhythm, to lose herself in the soaring melodies of the pan flutes. Her body turned and leapt with her tribe, using muscle memory formed from countless dances and celebrations.
As they made their way around the fire, another performance was taking place inside the tribe’s revolving circle. Rosen—a young girl of fourteen—was dressed in the raiment of Aikana. Purple skirts floated about her legs like fine mist as she danced with her silver partner, Endel. He wore a light-coloured tunic and breeches embroidered with twisting silver thread to represent the male moon.
All eyes were on them as they moved closer together, almost touching before springing apart once more. Glittering Mamai eventually submitted to Aikana, leaping one final time before the flames to land kneeling before her, his head bowed. The Scrat erupted into cheers, holding each other and stamping their feet on the ground in time to the constant drumbeat. This was the culmination of their dance. Aikana had moved beyond Mamai. His influence had passed away and the Changing of the Moons was complete.
“They danced well,” Jenifer said to Lowen. “Rosen and Endel were a good choice.”
“They were.”
The drums and pan flutes fell silent as Kerra, leader of the Wild Scrat, stepped up onto a plinth at the head of the clearing. The rising pyre lit her red hair like a flame against the bruised purple of the night.
“We gather tonight to welcome Aikana, our Mother Moon,” she began. “Blessed night, my children.”
“Blessed night,” the Scrat returned as one.
“In the north, they fear Aikana,” Kerra continued. “They believe she brings destruction and misery. We know better than those Armorian fools.” This was met with cheers from those assembled. “The wheel has turned. Mamai’s time is over and Aikana has bloomed once again. We are the Wild Scrat. We do not fear change, we embrace it. I invite our Scrat daughters to step forward and adorn our most beloved tree with their intentions. Release your hopes and dreams to Aikana and she will guide you to them.”
As Kerra stepped down from the plinth Jenifer turned back to Lowen. “Have you written an intention?”
“Of course, I have.”
“What did you write?”
“They’re supposed to be kept a secret.”
Want to download some awesome books for free? Check out The FREE Adventures in Sci-fi & Fantasy promotion.
If you enjoy my fiction and you’d like to support me, for just £3.50 a month (prices will vary depending on your country), you’ll receive these subscriber bonuses:
Blood and Teeth: A Dark Fiction Collection (exclusive ebook)
Arcanoforge: Midnight Metropolis (ebook, September 2025)
A chance to read Book Two of The Age of Aikana before anybody else (exclusive serial)
Subscriber-only posts and access to full Substack archive
A warm, tingly feeling knowing that you’ve helped to support an indie writer!