The Bronze Man's Secret and Other Stories

By N.K. Aning

A four book bundle
A young boy confronts his enemy in a final showdown when his parents travel.

A young boy must use his wits to save a beautiful princess from a castle.

Jack must come to terms with the death of his best friend as he experiences a profound encounter with the divine.

James must come to terms with his past as he is given a second chance at redemption

• Language: English
• Publisher: N. K. Aning
• Release date: Jun 25, 2019
• ISBN: 9781393477211

N.K. Aning

N. K. Aning is an acclaimed Ghanaian author known for his rich storytelling, vivid imagination, and powerful reimagining of African myths for the modern world. His works span multiple genres from middle-grade adventure and young adult fantasy to supernatural thrillers and literary fiction, all united by a deep sense of wonder and cultural resonance. For younger readers, Aning's The Adventures of Afia series and Imaginaterium saga deliver laughter, heart, and heroism in equal measure. Teen readers have found their voices reflected in his sweeping mythic series like Pierce and the City of Imaginaterium where ordinary characters rise to confront destiny. For mature audiences, his haunting stories such as The Conjuring, The Infernal Jury,  A Song for Eyram and The Most Beautiful Thing explore grief, love, redemption, and the fragile balance between good and evil. At the heart of N. K. Aning's work lies a simple belief  that stories are bridges. They connect the past to the present, myth to modernity, Ghana to the world. His writing invites every reader ,child, youth, or adult to see themselves reflected in the extraordinary. Through every page, N. K. Aning reminds us that the magic we seek in stories is the same magic that lives within us.

Book preview

It was dark. I was trying to learn for my impending exams. Algebra and trigonometry were my headache. Then I heard that sound again. My parents had travelled the week before and had left me in charge. Well, not really, since the nanny came round daily to check up on me. Yeah, I know, you are wondering what fourteen year old needs a nanny. That’s my parent’s idea of punishing me for getting into a fight at school. Not that the boy didn’t have it coming. Calling me Dick just because my surname is Dickson isn’t right. That’s my parents for you. Welcome to my world.

I am getting off track here. As I was saying, I heard that noise again. I was in the living room. I glanced backwards and saw him standing on the dining table. For a moment, we stared at each other. Outside, the wind howled as crickets chirped under the cloudless sky. The house was eerily quiet. Courtesy of my parent’s retreat at a business meeting in the mountains of Akropong. My brown eyes bore into the black eyes of his. Bile rose in my throat as the bitterness crept into me.

I had gotten into a lot of trouble because of him. Somehow he never seemed to be around when my parents were in the house. My parents had gotten the idea that I was only trying to stop them from their retreat. That’s was crap. Yeah, I know kids aren’t supposed to talk like that, but you get the hang of it after watching a lot of TV. Thinking back at the humiliation I had gone through for this... I felt the rage boil in me. I flung the algebra book at him and yelled my battle cry as I scampered towards him.

A game of hide and seek began. I tried to hit him with whatever I felt my hands on. He dodged, twisting his body like a contortionist. I grabbed the coffee table and hurled across the room.

Oh No!

I realized my mistake as I misjudged the throw and it flew across the room and smashed into my dad’s favorite art, a reprinted Mona Lisa. I watched in horror as the picture tilted on the wall like a pendulum and crashed to the floor.

No! I heard myself saying as I gazed at the broken pieces on the linoleum carpet. Suffice to say what happened next was, what’s the word ‘horrible’

Seeing my dad’s prized art, albeit a forgery, sent me into Berserker mode. Now the fight was on for real. We danced around each other as I tried to hit him. I chased him to the kitchen. The smell of left over fried yam wafted across my nostrils. My stomach growled but I paid no attention. What a little sacrifice to catch my enemy? He jumped over a chair, causing me to pause, and gape at such gymnastics. I pushed the chair away and flung myself at him. I missed him by inches.

You little-

My words got caught in my throat as I slipped on oil I had spilled in the afternoon and hit my head on the floor. I saw red. I gripped the kitchen table and steadied myself. Now I was angry, intent on ending this once and for all. I grabbed a pestle and made my way out of the kitchen.

Where are you, friend? I shouted out, as I padded my way towards the storeroom. That was the only place he could hide. I entered the room, and saw him huddled in a corner.

I got you at last, I said with glee as my eyes rested on him. My headache had risen to a fever pitch. The room was stuffy. No one had stepped in there for a long time. A moldy stench filled the room. Discarded computers, old stuffs and antiques were strewn about, some arranged in a mountainous pile. Being rich like my parents meant you could afford to throw stuff away when you got bored with it. My parents, both connoisseurs of art had impeccable taste in medieval arts albeit reprinted ones. Our home was an epitome of reprinted arts. Located on the eastern shore of Elmina, it had a gothic style to its rendering. I bet you are wondering how I knew that word. Watch some TV, pal. The Legend was that it held a cache of gold smuggled by the slaves during the colonial