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A Compilation of the MUNTU Trilogy
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ISBN-10: 1-55404-360-3
Genre: Science Fiction/Fantasy/SF
eBook Length: 172 Pages
Published: June 2006

From inside the flap

Death of a man with twin souls, wrath of the gods, a new habitat and a beast with unquenchable thirst. A Serial killer is on the loose. The killer is a bunyip, a trapped spirit in the Island of the dead. DCI Ivory Storm must look beyond technical means to solve these crimes. The answer: a recluse seer from Aboriginal country. In a quest to break the demonís curse on Earth, to save her lover and reunite the world, Ivory finds herself in the Sacred Valley of Dreams, ancient terrain ensconced in galaxies beyond two asteroid belts.

Reviews and Awards

The Sex Bunyip begins with the investigation of a serial killer. The male victims of these crimes are mutilated, seemingly from the inside out. The female victims are left virtually untouched physically but mentally they are left completely insane and unable to describe what has taken place. DCI Ivory Storm, in charge of the case, soon realizes that there is something really strange about this serial killer and that her investigations are going to lead her into a whole new world of understanding.

In traditional Aboriginal culture, twins are seen as bad omens. Normally, upon death, the soul passes into Dreamtime without incident. However, with twins, both souls need to be present to make this journey. If one soul can?t find the other, the resulting bunyip, searches until it finds its twin soul. The results can be devastating as seen in this story.

The Sex Bunyip is an excellent read. This is not your average thriller. I was as impressed and eager to learn about the mythological portion of the story as I was with the actual modern day crime investigation. Moreover, these two portions meshed seamlessly into a really fresh and amazing story that I haven?t been able to stop raving about.

(Tami Brady, TCM Reviews)




The Dreaming is an Aboriginal chronicle.

A belief of how things happen. Why things are.

Origins of land and culture.

All beings have their Dreaming.

But Dream Time is time before time; space before space.

Transition of death raises things to Dream Time.

But there are spirits whose path is lost.

Trapped bunyips in the island of the dead.

Souls that must find Dream Time or terrible things will pass.

A Koori medium brings tranquility to such souls.


FIRST, THERE WAS A FLIGHT. One that Detective Chief Inspector Ivory Storm hated. She had no faith in its purpose but had exhausted all options. A serial killer was out there. Butchering men. Disorienting women without medical reason? And Operation Limelight had not cracked him yet.

It tickled Lemar, her boyfriend, indulged him even, that she would explore his theory based on a myth.

"Itís simple," he said. "Track down the seer."

"In Orange Desert?" she said, incredulous.

"In Orange Crater, Northern Territory. Land of the Hemel tribe."

Seer, medium, medicine woman, what did it matter?

But it did. Matter. Witchcraft never solved crime.

Or did it?

Now the plane droned on rough ground. Rocked on the runway, slogged its speed, and turned. It juddered to a halt. One minute passed. Two. Seven.

She dipped her nose and began moving again.

Ivory leaned her elbows on the armrests, glad for three seats to herself. Before long, the sink in her belly, the knot in her gut, the dullness in her ears from slant and altitude vanished. She gazed at an air view of Sydney: trees like shrubs. Matchstick houses. A blue water map swaying with white surf along a golden coastline. The metropolis reduced to little specks, pieces of Lego, shards of blue, gray, silver? Then it was gone. Swallowed by pale blue fog. Strips of cloud drew near, nearer? The plane slipped inside them like a lover. Down below, a snowy carpet furrowed in cushy little bumps.

Ivory ran honey fingers through ink black hair that gleamed with luster. Sudden fatigue of months of investigation swept through her.

Deep emerald eyes grew small, smaller?

She slept.

A stroke of sun awakened her. She opened her eyes. Gazed at layers of orange and white, chameleon sun on the horizon vacillating between hues, dimming to white between bunches of cloud; popcorn cloud scrunched into fists; clouds shafting through a sea of blue; clouds like golden islands, thousands of them. They gave way to a blood-red horizon, where the sun shone fiercely on a barren stretch of orange land miles, miles out.