A Song of Granite (Stone-Singer Chronicles, #3)

The war is won, the sanctuary is sealed, but the silence that follows is a new and terrible kind of prison. Trapped within the heart of the Great Koppie, Zuri and her companions discover their refuge is also a cage, a place of blissful, memory-wiping peace that threatens to soothe their souls into oblivion 1. As her friends succumb to this sweet poison, Zuri must wage a new war—not against an army of claws, but against a beautiful, seductive apathy that offers an escape from the very pain and trauma that has forged them into heroes.
Their only path forward lies deeper in, to the mountain's ancient, conscious heart. There, in a chamber of living memory, they unearth the saga's most devastating secret: the Great Silence was not just an act of hate, but a desperate, tragic response to a world that was already dying 2. They learn that the land itself bears a scar from that ancient trauma, and to heal the world, they must first perform the great Song of Restoration. But this is no simple prayer; it is a work of profound ecological engineering, requiring three sacred components scattered across the blighted, hostile world they just escaped.
Forced to leave their paradise to walk back into an inferno, Zuri's small band undertakes a final, desperate quest. It is a journey that will test the very limits of their courage, forcing them to confront their own ghosts in a blinding salt pan, to seek a gift from the sky's aching eye, and to pay an unimaginable price in blood and sacrifice 3.
A Song of Granite is the breathtaking, triumphant, and deeply moving conclusion to The Stone-Singer Chronicles. It is an epic story of the final confrontation between a philosophy of life and a philosophy of death, a profound exploration of what it means to heal a wound that has scarred a generation, and an inspirational testament to the idea that the most powerful song is not one of perfect harmony, but one sung by a broken heart that has refused to give up. The final battle is not for a throne, but for the soul of the world itself, a war that can only be won by a leader who is willing to lay down her power and trust in the quiet, creative, and world-altering magic of a community that has finally learned to sing as one.

As a public health activist, my world is one of data—charts that map crises and statistics that chart decline. But I have learned a profound truth: data can diagnose a sickness, but it cannot heal a community. For that, we need a story.
I write fables set in the ancient landscapes of Namibia not to escape our reality, but to see it more clearly. A fable can take a complex, systemic crisis and make it visceral and urgent. My hope is that these stories are a different kind of diagnostic tool—one that helps us find the courage to compose a new song of resilience together.