BLOGS

Mocha Memoirs Press, LLC is calling for submissions of novels, novellas and short stories.

We’re currently looking for titles in the following genres: horror, science fiction, fantasy, and romance. We’re most excited about seeing stories in the subgenres of cyberpunk, steampunk, near-future sf, and space opera.

We do publish paranormal romance, science fiction romance, fantasy romance, and dark fantasy romance. We’d like to see submissions in these areas as well. Our interracial romance titles have been very successful, so feel free submit those as well.

To submit your work to us, submit a cover letter, completed work and synopsis to Nicole Givens Kurtz

mochamemoirspress@gmail.com.

Thank you.
Mocha Memoirs Press, LLC.
http://stores.lulu.com/mochamemoirspress

“Thank you, Tyler Worthington.”

            Tyler glanced up to see the statuesque blond Goddess standing over him.  He rose.  “No need to thank me, since I had no choice but to defend myself.”

            “Yes, but you also defended others and you saved lives.  You are truly a great warrior.”

            Tyler stared at the woman who called herself Goddess, and had to wonder if there was an inkling of truth to the claim.  She looked as fresh as if she had just stepped out of a photo spread for a major fashion publication.  She exhibited no signs of exertion, no cuts, no bruises. Not a single strand of her golden hair appeared out of place.  Uncanny.

            The man named Olag stepped to the Goddess’ side.  He didn’t look nearly as happy to see Tyler as the Goddess clearly was.  Tyler couldn’t blame the guy.  Being put down in a sleeper hold was not a very dignified position for a proud warrior to be in.

            “Where is my sword?”  Olag demanded.

            “I will gladly help you retrieve it,” Tyler replied in a tone he hoped would allay the big man’s pique.  To the Goddess:  “After I find his sword, I’m gone, out of here…that is if I’m free to go.”

            The Goddess’ expression flashed concern.  “Well, certainly you are free…but we would like it if you remained with us.”

            Tyler shook his head.  “No can do.  I need to find a way to get back to my world.”

            “But to venture beyond the land of the Norlunders is to court grave danger.  You will not be safe beyond our borders,” the Goddess insisted.

            “I’m not exactly safe within them,” Tyler countered.  “How long before these Skags overrun you?”  He waved a hand, indicating a ground littered with Skag and human corpses.  “How long before you no longer have enough manpower to hold back that horde?”

            “We are open to suggestions, Tyler Worthington,” the Goddess offered.  “How do we prevent the Skags from overrunning us?”

            The Goddess regarded the outlander with a look of hopeful expectation.  Olag’s stern demeanor took a momentary leave of absence as he mirrored the Goddess’ expression.

            Between the two of them, Tyler was trapped and he knew it.  I really walked into this one didn’t I?  He berated himself.  He could not in good conscious desert these people to an enemy clearly bent on cleansing them from the land.

            Letting out a resigned sigh Tyler shrugged.  “I might have a few suggestions, if you’re willing to listen.”

            The great hall was a huge stone edifice situated in the middle of a village of wood and thatch structures.  It was shaped like a rectangle and its gray coloring matched the bleakness around it.  Tyler noticed that the sun rarely cast its rays in this land of perpetual overcast.  Grayness pervaded every nook and cranny of existence.  Shades of gray even insinuated its way into the green hues of plants and tree leaves. 

            The sound of merriment booming from inside the hall was enough to make the Norlunders forget the gloom of their environment.  A long wide table was situated lengthwise down the middle of the floor, corresponding to the length of the building.  Raucous Norlunders sat or stood around the table chugging down brew and wine from enormous mugs and chalices. 

A Norlunder leapt on top of one end of the table for a song and a dance.  Inebriation upset his balance in a spectacular way, cutting short his impromptu performance.  A roar of laughter greeted the hapless reveler’s unceremonious plunge to the floor. 

            Tyler stood at the other end of the table taking in the boisterous scene with an outsider’s fascination.  The Norlunders were celebrating their victory over the Skags.  Tyler was dubious.  The Skag attack seemed more of a probe than a concerted effort by the enemy to take the village.  Whether the Norlunders suspected that to be the case or not, the warriors were loathe to allow strategic or tactical complexities to mar their perception of the day. 

            The warriors around Tyler boasted of their individual deeds in battle.  Tyler refrained from tooting his own horn.  But others did that for him and before long, word of the dark skinned stranger’s mighty prowess in combat was the prevailing topic of conversation.  Tyler took a sip of rich brew from his overflowing mug.  He was not much of a drinker.  Plus, given his current predicament, Tyler felt a need to maintain as clear a head as he possibly could in this strange setting. 

He turned to Olag, who had become a companion over the past few hours.  “Where’s the Goddess?”

            Drink and good cheer had softened Olag’s harsh countenance.  It seemed he no longer bore Tyler ill will over their earlier meeting.  “She’s in the temple, doing whatever divine beings do,” he replied, his breath robust with brew.

            “Is she really a Goddess?”  Tyler pressed, making no effort to hide his skepticism.

            Olag lifted a bushy brow as if such a question had never been put before him.  “Is she a Goddess?  That’s like asking if the sky is really a sky or if the sun is really a sun.”  The warrior laughed before turning up his mug to drain it.

            Deciding he wasn’t going to get anywhere with that line of inquiry, Tyler switched topics.  “I’m seeing similarities between your people and an ancient people where I come from called Vikings.  How long have Norlunders been on this world?”

            “Many generations,” said Olag.  “Legends say the Goddess placed us here because she was lonely.”

            “What does the Goddess say?” Tyler asked.

            A lengthy, hearty belch preceded the warrior’s answer.  “The Goddess says nothing, except that we are blessed.”

            “Blessed?”  Tyler’s face scrunched in irritation.  “That’s it?  You don’t know how you got here and your…Goddess won’t tell you?”

            “That’s her prerogative, Tyler Worthington.”  Olag gestured for a server to refill his mug.  “Maybe one day she will tell us…until then…” Olag shrugged.

            “What about the Skags?”  Tyler queried, trying to tamp down his annoyance.  “What do your legends say about them?”

            Olag ejected a stream of spittle at the mention of Skags.  “They’re new.  They appeared in the time of my grandfather’s father.  That was a time when Norlunders were as numerous as the stars in the sky.  Now we are few.  Skags have killed and enslaved a multitude of our number.  But we have refused to perish.  For a while we fought the Skags to a standstill, until a leader rose up among them and unified their tribes.  Now they press us harder than ever, further depleting our population.”

            “A leader?  Who is he?”

            “They call him the Jahon.”

            Tyler mulled on that for a few seconds before receiving a bruising back clap from Olag.  “Enough talk of those demon slime lickers.”  He gestured to Tyler’s mug.  “Drink, enjoy.  We’ll worry about Skags tomorrow!”

            “I’ll enjoy,” Tyler conceded.  “As for this.”  He held up the mug.  “One more sip and I’m done.”

            In spite of another overcast day, the sky remained way too bright for Tyler’s alcohol-muddled eyes to adjust to.  His head felt like it had been dissected and sewn back together with a rusty needle.  Every little sound from the wheedling of what passed as birds on this world to a whispered remark amplified the grinding discomfort of Tyler’s headache.  On top of it all, he could not figure out how that one more sip he vowed to take turned into multiple mugs of brew.  Worse than that, was his lack of memory when it counted, such as waking up the next morning to discover not one but two choice, fully naked Norlunder beauties on either side of him.

            Tyler was walking with the Goddess along the outskirts of the village.  Also accompanying him were the Goddess’ War Leaders Haruld and Voorgren, along with a coterie of personal guards. 

            “You need an obstacle running the length of this perimeter,” Tyler pointed out.  “You’re wide open.  An embankment going north and west should do the trick.  You’re bounded by the river in the south and the Skags are not likely to come at you from the forest since they require flat grazing terrain for their…” Tyler had to think hard, not only because his hangover was impairing his ability to focus, but because he had only recently learned the name of those butt ugly beasts the Skags rode.

            “Kreliks,” the Goddess added helpfully.

            Tyler gave a nod to the Goddess.  “Kreliks.  Of course it wouldn’t hurt to fortify that approach as well.”

            “Obstacles, fortifications. We have no need of such things,” the war leader called Haruld declared.

            His shorter, thinner comrade, Voorgren, concurred with an emphatic tap to his chest.  “Agreed.  Our fortification has always been the fighting prowess of the Norlunder warrior.  The weak build walls.  We build men.”

            “And the Skags have wiped out those men as fast as you could build them,” Tyler retorted.  “I think it’s time to try something new, gentlemen.  Because the next time the Skags attack…and they will in force…this village will fall.”

            The war leaders directed mildly flustered gazes at the Goddess.  “What say you to this, Goddess?” queried Haruld.  “Is our value as warriors to be impugned by this outsider?”

            “Tyler Worthington impugns no one,” said the Goddess.  “He is telling us how to achieve victory and that is of far more value than wasting lives on old, tested and ultimately failed methods of defending ourselves.  Gather a work detail and begin the preparation.”

            The Goddess’ tone invited no further debate on the matter.  The war leaders cloaked their reluctance beneath crisp utterances of acknowledgement. 

            Tyler, having tuned out the exchange, wanted nothing more than to return to his bed.

Thirty archers were lined up in an open field with the river to their backs.  Facing them at a hundred yards distant were man-shaped hide sacks stuffed with grass and tied to poles planted in the ground.

            Tyler gave the command and the archers removed arrows from their quivers, notched bows and released.  Over two dozen arrows penetrated the effigies, not one sailing astray. 

            Approval glowed from Tyler’s eyes at the precision marksmanship he was witnessing.  Norlunder archers were individually proficient, but they were not accustomed to working as a unit.  Tyler put the archers through continuous target practice drills, not because they needed it…although constant practice never hurt.  He was more interested in instilling within them a new sense of cohesion and discipline.

            The war leaders hovered in the background, their scowling faces betraying what they thought of the attention the outlander was bestowing upon the bowmen.  Archery was an art looked down upon in a society enamored with shock combat.  Bowmen were barely tolerated, yet recognized as being of limited utility on the battlefield.  Tyler’s new tactical scheme eliminated the stigma attached to bowmen, granting them equal status with the sword bearing infantry.

            “Why do you waste time with them?”  War Leader Haruld demanded gruffly.  “Cold steel will dispatch a Skag with greater reliability than a flying twig with a point at the end.” 

            Tyler visualized himself knocking some common sense into this arrogant blowhard.  Instead, he settled on civility.  “One twig may not be effective, but many twigs falling upon the enemy like rain will do plenty of damage.”

            Haruld’s inscrutable expression loosened in a brief dawn of comprehension.  Unwilling to concede the outlander’s point, the war leader grunted and walked away.

            Several hundred men, arrayed in dense formations, marched in sync in the same field where the archers drilled hours earlier. Each man possessed a twelve-foot wooden pole that had been sharpened to a stabbing point.

            Tyler watched the phalanxes maneuver, evaluating their coordination.  He yelled out a command and the first ranks of each phalanx thrust out their pikes toward an imaginary enemy.  Not bad for beginners in this type of warfare, Tyler thought.  Of course it remained to be seen how well the pikemen composed themselves in the face of a krelik charge.

            “A shame,” War Leader Voorgren tsked, appearing at the outlander’s side.  “So many good warriors who should have swords in their hands and you have them playing with sticks.”

            Voorgren was an itch Tyler wanted to scratch.  Without looking in the man’s direction, Tyler replied levelly.  “A row of those sticks will ravage a herd of kreliks more effectively than the shorter reach of a sword.  All that is required is that men hold their ground to meet the charge.”  Tyler turned to the war leader.  “That takes a special kind of courage.”

            Voorgren’s face twisted into a scornful mask for lack of a rejoinder.  He growled something beneath his breath and walked away.

They dragged the prisoner deep into the village and tossed him at the Goddess’ feet like a sack of tubers.  The mob shouted and screamed and spat in animalistic displays of wild release.  Voices calling for the prisoner’s death were augmented by calls urging the Goddess to give her divine sanction.  A foot lashed out from the mob, striking the prisoner in the side.  The prisoner gasped in pain and contracted into a fetal ball.

            Someone else approached the prisoner with a club.  The man raised the club over head, bracing for a bludgeoning blow.

            The man peered at the Goddess, seeking her approval to strike.

            The Goddess, seated on a stone slab cut to accommodate her pleasingly lithe proportions, raised a hand.

            The man with the club lowered the instrument and stepped back, obviously disappointed.  The need to inflict violence was so strong in the man he almost defied the Goddess’ silent command.  But fear of incurring the Goddess’ wrath outweighed his homicidal lust.  The man merged into the crowd as the Goddess rose from her stone perch to examine the barely conscious prisoner.

            She gestured and two guards flanking her throne rushed to the prisoner, grabbing him by each arm and yanking him to his feet. 

            The prisoner sagged in the guards’ grips.  His head lolled side to side, his dark eyes partly open, barely focused.  He had been stripped from the chest up.  He wore strange green leg coverings of a material the Goddess had never seen before.  But most strange all of all was his color.  The prisoner’s skin was a deep brown…almost black in hue.  His facial features were much fuller than that of a Norlunder.  And his hair…the Goddess touched his short hair, gently pulling at coarsely curled strands. She appraised the rest of him, finding him to be quite a pleasing specimen.  As tall, if not taller than her tallest guards, the man was heavily muscled, yet lean around the middle, giving him a most appealing symmetry.  The Goddess turned away before certain thoughts interfered with her objective scrutiny of the stranger.

            “Take him away,” she ordered the guards.  “I want him cared for until he is strong enough to talk.”

            As the guards removed the prisoner, the Goddess returned to her throne and sat.  She called for her attendant to bring over her black lioness.  The Goddess stroked the glossiness between the cat’s ears as it moaned delight.

            U.S. Special Forces operator Tyler Worthington had no idea where he was, how he got here or how long he had been unconscious.  All he knew was that one moment he was creeping through dense Congolese foliage on his way to assassinating a brutal warlord.  The next moment he was gone, transported by whatever means to another barely hospitable environment on a world he strongly suspected was not Earth.  Tyler found himself along the bank of a river, light headed, disorientated, bereft of his weapons and gear.  The land was gravelly, fog drenched and dotted with patches of dull green vegetation.  A treeline covered the near distance, disappearing behind the steep gradient of a hill.  A weird blue-green-brown mixture colored the sky, further convincing Tyler that he was on another planet.

            But how the hell did he get here?  That was when a band of ruffians set upon him, cutting short his reverie, pounding him into the dirt.

            Tyler burst into full consciousness as if from a fitful dream.  He scrambled to his feet, his senses heightened, his body revitalized.  He was in some sort of enclosure.  It was a hut with a hole in the ceiling, providing an outlet for the smoke rising from a fire burning at the center of the floor.

            A leathery flap covered the hut’s exit.  That’s where Tyler headed.  Cautiously he lifted the flap, bent and stole a peek outside.  A huge man wearing a metal helmet and chain linked armor covering a kilt-like getup stood just beyond the entrance, his back to the hut.  A cascade of blond hair flowed down the man’s back from beneath his odd medieval looking headpiece.

            Tyler squinted in amusement.  Wherever he was, the natives sure dressed funny.

            Stealthily, Tyler eased out of the hut.  He tiptoed toward his presumed guard and wrapped the man’s head in the steel vice of a sleeper hold.

            The guard struggled ferociously, but Tyler’s hold held, his flawless technique an effective counter to his victim’s brute strength.  Within seconds, the guard’s resistance slackened then ceased.  Tyler gently lowered the guard to the ground. 

            “Halt!”

            Tyler whirled toward the sound of that voice. 

            Four men, dressed much like the one he subdued, trotted toward Tyler with swords drawn.

            So much for slipping out of this place undetected.  Tyler sighed resignedly and removed the unconscious guard’s sword from its scabbard.  Tyler was an expert in the use of blades. But he had never handled a blade as monstrous as the one he was holding.

            Tyler stood his ground, preparing to meet the guards’ attack.  That’s when he saw her.  A tall, blond woman with a seductively snug fitting silver-plated garment snuggly wrapped around her well-formed torso.  An enormous cat, black as obsidian, accompanied her.  It was too large to be a panther.  The animal bore the look of a female lion.  Tyler gripped the sword’s hilt tighter, more apprehensive about the feline threat than the human.

            More blond warrior-looking types rushed to the scene until Tyler found himself confined within a bristling circle of spears and swords. 

            “Who are you?”  The woman asked.

            Tyler blinked, surprised.  He expected a language barrier.  “My name is Tyler…Tyler Worthington.  Who are you and where am I?”

            The woman approached.

            Tyler stared at her fixated.  The angularity of the woman’s features would have prevented her from being considered conventionally beautiful in Tyler’s world.  Though she was far from unappealing.  Her body was a finely cut meld of sensual and athletic.  The aura she exuded, transcended the physical in a way Tyler could not put into words.  Gray eyes, clear as sun-glazed ice stared back at Tyler with unwavering curiosity.

            “I am the Goddess,” the woman replied with earnestness.  “You are in the land of the Norlunders.”

            Tyler tried not to look dubious.  “A Goddess?  A Goddess of what?”

            The woman frowned minimally.  “I am the Goddess of my people.”

            Tyler wanted to press for an elaboration, but decided to leave it at that.  If this woman and her rabble of followers wanted to believe she was a goddess, so be it.  When in Rome…

            “Who sent you?”

            Tyler was momentarily thrown by the question.  “Who sent me?  No one sent me.  I don’t know how I got here unless you used your godly powers to summon me here.”

            The woman either had no concept of sarcasm or she simply ignored Tyler’s barbed reply.  “I am as subject to the whims of the Fates as any mortal.  If the Fates sent you to us, then that means you have a purpose.”

            “Too bad your subjects beat the crap out of me before you reached that conclusion,” Tyler growled, his body still feeling painful vestiges of the Norlunders’ warm reception.

            “Forgive my people,” the Goddess solicited.  “They thought you were in league with the Skags.  Had you looked anything like one they would have slaughtered you where they found you.”

            “What’s a Skag?”

            “Demons in the guise of flesh and blood,” the woman replied, her gray eyes turning hot with loathing.  She glanced past Tyler to where her unconscious guard rested.  “You must be a warrior to have subdued Olag.”

            Tyler lifted his chin.  “You could say that.”

            “Then your purpose will be served with us.”

            Tyler shook his head in vigorous rejection.  “My only purpose is to get the hell out here and back to my own world.”

            The sound of a horn echoed from nearby, eliciting alarmed reactions from the warriors.  The big cat let out a menacing growl.

            The Goddess shifted her gaze to the general direction of the sound and her eyes narrowed.

            Tyler followed her gaze.  “What’s going on?”

            “The Skags are coming.  Time to show your mettle.”  The Goddess bounded away, the black lioness in tow.

A fear-wrought commotion cascaded over the village.  Women and children fled past Tyler away from wherever the danger was.  Armor clad, shield bearing warriors dashed in the opposite direction, their expressions dancing with the anticipation of facing that very danger.  Tyler was inclined to join the women and children, but his own unwillingness to back down in a fight, coupled with simple curiosity compelled him to join the warriors.

He found himself along the outskirts of the village, next to a wooden watchtower.  A heavy fog blanketed the gray tundra beyond the village boundary.  Tyler initially saw nothing.  Suddenly a multitude of forms took shape, bursting from the mist into horrifying visibility.  Large creatures built like men, but with grotesquely misshapen faces made all the more hideous by bloodlust. 

The Skags wore dark leather like material that covered their torsos but left their pale, muscled arms bare.  They galloped toward the village astride monstrous boar-like creatures with curved tusks and enormous snouts dripping with exertion.

 Tyler barely had time to let that hell spawn image settle into his perception before the first mounted terror was upon him. 

            A Skag-mounted beast plowed into a cluster of warriors, impaling one on its long white tusk.  The beast flung the instantly dead warrior off its tusk as if flicking away a fly.  The Skag thrust a lance with a serrated head at another downed warrior, transfixing the latter to the ground.  Extracting the bloodied lance blade, the Skag settled on Tyler and wheeled his mount in that direction.  Tyler held the sword he stole from Olag in front of him as the beast thundered toward him like an antiquated locomotive.  At the last second Tyler leapt to one side, delivering a slash to the beast’s legs.  The force of the contact was jarring enough to dislodge the sword from Tyler’s grasp.  Tyler was propelled to the ground.  A piercing howl emanated from the animal as it bucked in pain, tossing its rider in the process.

            The Skag took a tumble but emerged back on his feet, with lance in hand.

            Tyler rose to face the Skag weaponless.  He spotted the sword, lying perhaps a dozen feet out of reach.  Tyler went for the weapon, but the Skag was closer and he moved swiftly to intercept the human with a lance thrust.

            Tyler reared back, avoiding a thrust that would have laid his throat open.  When the Skag tried a second thrust, Tyler swerved left as the blade swished within inches of his ear.  He grabbed the lance’s shaft and pulled.  The Skag lurched forward off balance.  Tyler delivered an elbow to the creature’s jaw and heard as well as felt bone shattering beneath the splotched skin of his opponent’s repulsive face.  The Skag dropped, injured, but unkowed by the blow.  The Skag unsheathed a dagger and tried to regain his footing.  Tyler, in possession of his opponent’s lance, jerked it into the Skag’s throat.  The Skag collapsed and this time he stayed down.

            Tyler turned in time to see another Skag-mounted beast bearing down on him.  The human gripped his lance javelin style and hurled it.  The lance caught the Skag in the chest knocking him off the animal.  Tyler rushed to the downed rider and plucked the lance out of the Skag’s corpse.  He spun around 360 anticipating more opponents. 

A group of Norlunders was engaged with a half dozen mounted Skags in a confused melee.  A Norlunder with a bow released an arrow that pierced a Skag’s upper chest.  The Skag knifed to the ground where Norlunders hacked him to pieces in a gore-strewn blur of swords and axes. 

            Three dismounted Skags torpedoed into a knot of Norlunders.  A Skag wielding a spiked mallet sunk one of those spikes into a human forehead.  He kicked a second Norlunder to the ground and raised the mallet preparing to bring it smashing down on the human.  Tyler swung his lance.  He was close enough to the Skag that the blade ripped a gash through the creature’s armpit.  The Skag turned to Tyler in a welter of rage and charged, bringing his mallet down in an overhand swing.  Tyler deflected the mallet with the lance blade, whacking the Skag between the eyes with the blunt end.  The impact was solid enough to have been lethal.  Either way, the Skag went down like fallen timber. 

            A powerful roar for the briefest of seconds drowned out the tumult of battle.  Tyler turned to see the Goddess’ lioness leaping through the air with a frightening grace.  The black cat flew at a mounted Skag from an angle, snatching its victim from off his mount and driving him into the unyielding dirt-packed surface.  The lioness buried its blade sharp teeth into the screaming Skag’s body, tearing out chunks of flesh. 

The Goddess was not far removed from her pet.  She held two swords.  The blades were not as long or wide as the swords wielded by the male warriors around her.  They were slender and slightly curved, possibly forged for her handling alone.  Almost dainty looking by Tyler’s estimation.  But when an arc of that dainty steel carved through two onrushing Skags simultaneously while gutting a third one in the same motion, Tyler revised that unflattering estimation.  And the Goddess dispatched those three Skags with the sword in her right hand.  The sword in her left hand moved seemingly of its own accord, depriving an attacking Skag of his battle-axe…along with the hand that held that axe.

            A mob of Skags, some mounted, others on foot, surged toward the Goddess.  The entire battle seemed to shift in that direction.  Tyler rushed to her assistance when it appeared that the Goddess was going to be subsumed in a howling tide of malformed monsters.  He became a tornado, whirling through a press of Skags with his lance, stabbing and slashing with the blade, bludgeoning with the shaft.  Tyler swiped at the ankles of an enemy warrior, upending the Skag.  Just as he was poised to drive the lance blade through the Skag’s neck, a deep bellow shook the air, as if blasting from a broken tuba.

            Tyler looked up and spotted a mounted Skag in the distance blowing a black horn.  The Skag wore a conical helmet with a T shaped standard jutting from the tip.  Tiny bones from small animals were strung along the standard’s cross section.  Tufts of blond scalps, presumably removed from unfortunate Norlunders, hung from the vertical section.

            At the horn’s signal, Skags began retreating.  The Skag at Tyler’s feet struggled to rise in an effort to follow his brethren.  With a lacerated ankle, the Skag wasn’t going to get far without assistance.  Tyler decided to let him go.

            A Norlunder warrior had other ideas.  The Norlunder pounced on the wounded Skag, cleaving the latter’s skull open with an axe.  The rest of the Norlunders went after the fleeing enemy killing as many as their blades and arrows could reach before terminating their pursuit.  Tyler let the humans warriors have at it.  He lowered to his haunches to catch his breath now that that the danger to himself had subsided.  He blew out a huff of dismay.  This medieval-style combat was a son-of-a-bitch…especially to someone highly trained in the covert aspects of modern high tech warfare.

I expect this list to grow. I just wanted to share.

Blade Runner

Minority Report

Soylent Green

The Terminator

The Handmaids' Tale

The Matrix

The Butterfly Effect

Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind

I, Robot

A Scanner Darkly

28 Days Later (which seems more like horror, but it's speculative)

Iron Man

Wall-E

It seems that I irked a few people with my post on pseudo-Afrocentrism. I admit that I expected  to attract some angry comments when I wrote that, but contrary to what someone claimed, I am not here to troll. I came here seeking a community of people interested in African-themed fiction, so without further ado, let's switch back to that topic for this post...

Lately I've been thinking about the Medjay, an elite class of warriors from ancient Egypt, and I've uploaded two drawings featuring Medjay onto my photo album here. I now feel like writing a little story about them, though I don't know how long it will be. All I know is that it will be action-packed and feature creatures from African mythology.

As a very active african nationalist born in america. I will not accept nor respect Brandons opinion. Brandon seems to be a fire starter,a diversion from the subject and creativity we are here to share and experience. This is the tactics europeans use before you realise what an operative is doing. It asked for a reason, WHAT is the main focus of this site! Opposite from white! So why are you here speaking on what africans are or are not period. Its obvious you have not studied African history..or your own! Weve heard from you and your forefathers long enough about who we arent! You lied then and either your ignorant,naive or your lying again. Peace

As someone who frequents message boards oriented around African history, I've run into several individuals who have some very...unorthodox ideas about the role of black people in world history. According to these people, black Africans founded nearly every significant civilization in antiquity, including Greece, Mesopotamia, the Olmec culture of Mesoamerica, and the Chinese Shang Dynasty. I've even met people claiming that the ancient Celts and Vikings were black!

Such individuals would likely be called "radical Afrocentrists", but the more I consider their claims, the more I doubt that this label is really applicable to them. I've noticed that these guys actually seldom pay much attention to cultures inside of Africa itself; they're more concerned with finding blacks in far-flung reaches of the planet. Take as an example Gregory Walker's Shades of Memnon trilogy, which claims a significant black presence in Olmec Mesoamerica and Shang Dynasty China. Walker may proclaim that his books are pro-African, but while the protagonist is indeed Egyptian, as far as I can tell he is in Europe, Asia, and the Americas rather than Africa proper for most of the books' length.

On the other hand, if you study the word "Afrocentrism", you'll see that it implies a focus on Africa. How can people be Afrocentric if they spend more energy declaring non-African cultures to be black than encouraging the study of genuine African cultures? This emphasis on peoples outside of Africa isn't Afrocentric, but is if anything the opposite.

Mind you, I'm not against the notion of black Africans exploring faraway lands by itself. If there's any evidence for it, I can even buy African merchants trading with the Olmecs, Chinese, or what have you. However, I really do not like the idea of black Africans founding every significant non-African culture, for it's implicitly disrespectful to non-Africans. It's tantamount to how Europeans used to claim a non-African origin for every major civilization in Africa, such as Egypt and Great Zimbabwe. The truth of the matter is that the history of world civilization is multichromatic, with its builders ranging in complexion from ebony black Kushites to lily white English. That's a much more colorful picture than the one painted by racial supremacists of any shade.

This is a re-design of an illustration I did for The Akonadi poster Design contest. More info on my blog

I originally wrote this article for the History section of the Rome: Total War Heaven website; the version posted on the website may be viewed here. However, below I've made some changes to the original article to include more references.

Ancient Egypt's African Roots

This view is wrong. The ancient Egyptians were not Europeans or Asians. They were in fact largely indigenous Africans, both biologically and culturally. That is not to say that there was no cultural or genetic influence from Europe or Asia, but any such influence was not enough to dilute a fundamentally African identity.

Physical Anthropology

Before the ancient Egyptians' biological relationships to other African peoples can be discussed, a common misconception about Africans must be refuted. This misconception is that indigenous Africans universally have a specific set of facial features commonly called "Negroid", such as wide, flat noses and full lips. While many African populations do have those features, there are also many who do not. Physical anthropologist Jean Hiernaux (1975) writes:

In sub-Saharan Africa, many anthropological characters show a wide range of population means or frequencies. In some of them, the whole world range is covered in the sub-continent. Here live the shortest and the tallest human populations, the one with the highest and the one with the lowest nose, the one with the thickest and the one with the thinnest lips in the world. In this area, the range of the average nose widths covers 92 per cent of the world range: only a narrow range of extremely low means are absent from the African record. (53-4)

Thinner noses and lips, so-called "Caucasoid" features, are especially common in northeast African regions not far from Egypt, such as Ethiopia, Somalia, Eritrea, and northern Sudan. Why this is the case is not known, although some anthropologists have speculated that there is a correlation between nose width and humidity, with narrower noses being more adaptive to drier climates. Whatever the cause, the point is that native African features are not restricted to the "Negroid" stereotype.

If we keep that in mind, how do we know whether the ancient Egyptians were more closely related to other Africans than to Europeans or Asians?

One method used by physical anthropologists to determine how closely related populations are is by measuring and comparing the shapes of their skulls, since skull shape varies from region to region. Populations with more similar skull shapes are regarded as being more closely related. When their skulls are subjected to this kind of analysis, ancient Egyptians appear to be especially closely related to northern Sudanese (Godde 2009) and are overall more closely related to northeast Africans than to Europeans, Asians, or Berbers (Kemp 2005). Similarities with "Negroid" sub-Saharan populations are particularly strong in skulls from southern (Upper) Egypt (Keita 1990, 2005). Those opposed to an African origin for the Egyptians often cite Brace (1993), which claimed to have found Egyptians to be closer to Europeans than Africans, but Howells (1995:95) criticizes this study's measurements as over-emphasizing the shape of the nose instead of evaluating the entire skull.

However, it must be noted that studies have also found some evidence for change in Egyptian skull shapes over time, possibly as a result of mixing with non-Egyptian immigrants. Berry and Berry (1967) report that Egyptian skulls show little change between the beginning of Egyptian civilization (3100 BC) and the Middle Kingdom (2080-1640 BC), but do change significantly during the New Kingdom (1550-1069 BC). This may reflect increased admixture with foreign immigrants, for example the Southwest Asian Hyksos. Zakrzewski (2004) also reports that a set of skulls from very late in Egyptian history is significantly different from earlier Egyptian skulls.

Another line of evidence showing a relationship between ancient Egyptians and populations from tropical Africa concerns the skeleton beyond the skull, specifically the proportions of the limbs. Tropical African populations have proportionately longer limbs than European or Asian populations, because longer limbs dissipate heat more easily. Measurements of ancient Egyptian skeletons has shown that their limb proportions were within the range of tropical African populations (Zakrzewski 2003), and sometimes their limbs were proportionately longer than those of some tropical Africans, leading Robins and Shute (1986) to call them "super-Negroid".

This is especially significant because even though we think of Egypt as a hot place, it is not truly tropical (it cools off during nighttime and winter). Populations living in subtropical desert climates similar to those of Egypt, such as the San of southwestern Africa, normally have limb proportions intermediate to those of Europeans and tropical populations (Trinkaus 1981). If the ancient Egyptians' limb proportions were like those of tropical Africans rather than subtropical peoples like the San, that implies that their ancestors must been relatively recent migrants to subtropical Egypt from a truly tropical area, such as tropical sub-Saharan Africa.

Yet another line of evidence concerns hair texture. You might think that casually glancing at Egyptian mummies' hair might answer the question of what their hair texture was originally like, but this is wrong. As shown by Brothwell and Spearman (1963) and Bertrand et al. (2003), Egyptian mummies' hair appears to have been damaged by the mummification process. Damage to the hair can cause discoloration and texture changes.

Fortunately, there is a more reliable way of discerning hair's original texture. First, using a special instrument called a trichometer, measure the cross-section of the hair, then divide the value for the minimum diameter of the hair by the maximum and multiply the product by a hundred, producing an index. Hair that was originally curly or kinky will produce an index between 55 and 70, while straighter hair will produce an index over 70.

According to Conti-Fuhrman and Massa (1972) and Massa and Massali (1980), hairs recovered from ancient Egyptian mummies have an average index of 60.02, falling within the kinky to curly range. In other words, ancient Egyptians' natural hair was curly to kinky like those of Africans. However, it must be noted that Egyptians usually shaved their heads to rid themselves of lice and wore wigs most of the time, so most Egyptian artwork does not depict Egyptians with their natural hair.

Finally, there comes the question of exactly what skin color the ancient Egyptians were. It is tempting to look at Egyptian paintings, but it must be remembered that Egyptian paintings were symbolic rather than realistic in nature. Individuals may be depicted as red, yellow, gold, green, white, or black depending on the context. Between the Old and Middle Kingdoms, it was common to depict Egyptian men as brown-skinned and women as yellow-skinned, but for some unknown reason, by the time of the New Kingdom, both sexes were portrayed as brown-skinned.

A better method of determining Egyptian skin tone would be analyzing the melanin content of samples of skin tissue taken from their mummies (melanin is the pigment which determines skin tone in humans). Mekota and Vermehren (2005), after studying Egyptian mummy skin cells, concluded that they "were packed with melanin as expected for specimens of Negroid origin"---in other words, Egyptians had a level of melanin and thus skin tone within the range of tropical Africans. We can therefore safely conclude that the ancient Egyptians were what we would call "black".

Not only were the ancient Egyptians biologically related to other Africans, but archaeology and cultural anthropology have shown that their culture had indigenous African roots as well.

Archaeology and Cultural Anthropology

The ancient Egyptian language is not the only thing that came to Egypt from the south. Some aspects of the Egyptian institution of pharaoh also show ties to more southerly Africans. Aldred (1978) says that the Egyptian pharaoh, who was believed to control the flooding of the Nile, may have been descended from a "rainmaker king" similar to the kind prevalent throughout black Africa. The Egyptian practice of sacrificing servants to accompany a dead pharaoh into the afterlife also appears to be of Sudanic origin (Ehert 1996). Even the iconography associated with the pharaoh may have originated in the south, for the oldest evidence of this iconography is found on an incense burner found in Nubia (Williams 1986).

In addition to language and political institutions, other aspects of Egyptian culture show ties to sub-Saharan Africa. Eglash (1995) shows that fractal designs, which are widely used by African cultures, are present in Egyptian architecture and cosmological signs. The Egyptian counting system also has sub-Saharan roots (Eglash 1999). According to the Encyclopedia Britannica (1984), many aspects of Egyptian religion (animal cults, ritual dressings, and the role of the king as head ritualist or medicine man) are closer to northeast African religions that European or Asian ones. Frankfort (1956:39-40) shows that much of the ancient Egyptian worldview has parallels in sub-Saharan cultures. Djehuti (2005a) lists many beliefs and cultural practices (for instance, circumcision rites, divine kingship, ancestor veneration, and totemism) common to both ancient Egypt and sub-Saharan Africa. The same author (2005b) also shows that personal names in both ancient Egypt and sub-Saharan Africa had great spiritual significance. Finally, de Heinzelin (1962) and Arkell and Ucko (1965) report tools of central African design being made by early Egyptians.

Some traits of ancient Egyptian culture also came from the Sahara west of Egypt. This area, now desert, was a grassy savanna until 5,500 years ago, allowing people and animals to live there. The oldest evidence of mummification comes from the Sahara (Donadoni 1964). The oldest evidence of a complex society in Egypt is also found out in the desert. This is the Nabta Playa culture, dating between the 10th and 7th millennia BC, which was characterized by huts built in straight rows, wells, a circle of megaliths similar to England's Stonehenge, and stone-roofed chambers containing cattle bones. These cattle bones most likely represent sacrifices offered to the gods (Wendorf and Schild 1998), a practice that was continued by later Egyptians.

After the Sahara dried up, the proto-Egyptians migrated into the Nile Valley, adopted farming, and developed two early civilizations, one in northern (Lower) Egypt and one in southern (Upper) Egypt. Of these two, it was the Upper Egyptians whose culture evolved into what we think of as classical Egyptian civilization. It is in Upper Egypt that we find evidence of social and economic differentiation among people, a differentiation that would evolve into the class system of later Egypt. Ultimately the Upper Egyptian culture would dominate Lower Egypt and conquer it by 3100 BC, making Egypt into a unified country and beginning the Old Kingdom (Bard 1994).

This genesis of Egyptian culture in the south and west is inconsistent with any argument that would classify Egypt as a "Near Eastern" or "Mediterranean" civilization. If Egyptians were indeed of Asian or European origin, we would expect the north to dominate and conquer the south, but the reverse is the case. This shows that the ancient Egyptian culture was essentially an indigenous African one.

Why is Egypt's African Identity Not Realized?

I can think of two possible reasons. One is that, due to the cultural and genetic influence of various Southwest Asian and European conquerors on Egypt, beginning with the Hyksos in the Second Intermediate Period, Egypt is viewed as part of the "Middle East" rather than being truly African. It is certainly true that the modern country calls itself the "Arab Republic of Egypt". Perhaps people think that since Egyptians nowadays identify with Arabs rather than other Africans, the ancient Egyptians must have been "Arabs" as well.

The other likely reason is that it is a legacy of racism against Africans. In the 18th and 19th centuries, when Egyptology first emerged as a discipline in the West, Westerners felt that Africans were incapable of creating civilization on their own. For example, the Australian anatomist G. Eliot Smith, quoted in Kamugisha (2003), claimed that "the smallest infusion of Negro blood immediately manifests itself in a dulling of initiative and a 'drag' on the further development of the arts of civilization". The idea that Africans could build a civilization as powerful and influential as Egypt's would have been unimaginable to most Westerners of the time.

Not that the possibility of an African ancient Egypt had never occurred to any Western intellectuals. Some, like the 18th century orientalist Count Constantin de Volney, actually accepted it, asserting that the Egyptians were "real Negroes, of the same species with all the natives of Africa". Others denied it. The 19th century Egyptologist Gaston Maspero claimed that the Egyptians, far from having the "general appearance of the Negro, really resembled the fine white races of Europe and Western Asia" (Poe 1997).

Ultimately, modern science, stripped of the prejudices of the past, would vindicate de Volney. However, most laypeople are not aware of this evidence, so they still incorrectly perceive Egypt as "Near Eastern" or "Mediterranean" rather than truly African.

Why Does This Matter?

Some people may wonder why the skin color or ethnicity of the ancient Egyptians matter. Who cares if they were black, white, or magenta?

This debate matters because ancient Egypt has been inaccurately depicted for so long. Portraying the ancient Egyptians as non-African is like portraying the Romans as being non-European or portraying the Maya as being non-Native American. It is perpetuating myths. If Egypt is to be accurately portrayed, its African identity must be accepted.

In conclusion, ancient Egypt was a fundamentally African culture founded by African people, not an import from Europe or Asia. If we are to move forward from our racist past, acknowledging this is a good step to take.

Bibliography

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Recently, I was talking to Wanuri Kahiu, director of the Kenyan science fiction short film Pumzi (she's also set to direct Who Fears Death: The Movie). I asked her how she came to science fiction . She said that she didn't grow up reading or watching science fiction, that it was organic. "The story led me to science fiction," she said.

I had a similar experience. As a kid, I read everything, including some science fiction but not much (I didn't see a hint of myself in science fiction novels back then- no girls, no blacks. I didn't purposely shy away from sf, I simply was never drawn to it and I didn't have anyone to turn me on to it). Yes, I grew up consuming Isaac Asimov books like crazy...but not his science fiction novels, his science books (though I did read I, Robot...I enjoyed reading about the robots). As the story of Pumzi led Wanuri to science fiction, the stories of Zahrah the Windseeker, The Shadow Speaker and Who Fears Death led me to it.

My short story "Spider the Artist" was pivotal for me. It was my first time consciously writing "pure" science fiction. One day, editor John Joseph Adams had come to me and asked me to write a story for his anthology Seeds of Change. He said, no fantasy, just science fiction.The idea was a bit foreign for me because my world on and off the page is full of magic and fantasy. However, I always like a good challenge so I took him up on it. "Spider the Artist" was the result.

After writing it back in 2008, I was sure of two things: 1. That I was on the right path with Who Fears Death (I was editing it around the time I wrote "Spider the Artist" and I remember going back to it and turning the volume up on some things). 2. That I would write more science fiction. I liked the taste very much. I thank John Joseph Adams for gently nudging me to the table. I think he changed the direction of my work.

A burst pipeline in Nigeria

Here's a brief description: "In “Spider the Artist,” Nnedi Okorafor takes us to Nigeria of the future, where Big Oil protects the pipelines with spider-like AIs known as zombies, and tells the tale of a woman who faces down one of the murderous machines armed only with a guitar."

I must admit that I'm not exactly the kind of person you would expect to join the Black Science Fiction Society, largely because, as you can deduce from my photo, I'm not black. However, I am interested in African cultures and history, particularly that of Egypt (yes, I do consider ancient Egypt to be African), and I support the black struggle against racism in America, so I think I still have a good reason to hang out here.

Although my dream career is biological anthropology, I do enjoy writing and drawing as hobbies. In fact, I've recently completed a 6,866-word short story set in prehistoric Egypt circa 4000 BC. I plan to write more stories with Egyptian or other African themes in the future, and when I have enough I'll probably combine them into a book collection similar to those containing Robert E. Howard's Conan the Barbarian stories.

PROLOGUE

            In the middle of the colorful forest by the river bank through a cloud of white mist, was the birth of a young boy.  There were only three to bear witness to such the occasion, and only one to take him home.

            “He has such a spirit this one,” said the copper complexioned woman holding the baby in her naked arms, her long dark hair disheveled for once. 

            “Yes.  Just like his Papa,” beamed the lean burly man dressed in a hemp loin cloth; who after touching both the woman’s and the baby’s face, quickly jumped to his feet to do a little jig.

            “His birth has been a long time coming,” said another woman as she smiled down at the happy family.  “Are you sure you don’t want to keep him with you?” she asked.

            “If only we could.  He will be safer with you.  He’ll be a happy boy, he has such spirit.” The first woman smiled.

            She slowly got up and placed her son in a wicker basket.  Within the folds of the blanket, she placed her favorite pearl handled hair brush and a lock of her black silky hair.  The man placed a twig from his favorite branch and a leather pouch with a long string.  Within the pouch, his and his son’s secret alone it was to share.

            The father and mother signed a note on a piece of paper made of leather saying:

            Dear Son,

                        Happy was the joyous day of your birth.  We will forever keep it with us.  Though we may not have you physically now, we have you always.  Love is you.  Take us with you wherever you go, in your heart and in your thoughts as we do you also.  Someday soon we will be reunited and when the time comes our son, you will solidify your place beside us.  Words cannot express the sorrow of letting you go, but you are in great, trusted, capable hands.  Love her as we love her.

                        See you soon our baby.

                                                Love, Momma & Papa

            They folded up the note, the mother kissed it, and they placed it in his basket also.  They kissed him on the forehead one at a time, blessed him, and bid him adieu.

            “Ma’Zelle, take care of our boy.  No one must know who he is or where he comes from,” said the mother.

            “His safety and well being is in your hands,” said the father.

            “I promise to raise him as my own and protect him as my own.  He will not want for anything but the two of you, and one day soon I’ll make that come true for him too,” said Ma’Zelle.

            “We know that you will,” they said in monotone unison.

            The three adults embraced as they said farewell.  Ma’Zelle bent over and picked up the basket with the baby, then waved a final goodbye to his parents.  She walked slowly out of the enchanted forest.  Who’s to say when she would be able to enjoy this place again; this land she called home.

            “Sweet Caroni,” she sighed.

            She made her way out of the forest and back to her home and she noticed her lights were on.  As she got closer to the lovely cottage surrounded by trees, bushes and bright colorful flowers; she could hear the voices of men and women chattering.  She smiled to herself.

            Opening her front door, she walked through the living room straight back to her living quarters and deposited the basket.  She cast a sleeper spell over the baby and covered him up with one of her widely knitted throws.  She walked back out of her room, gently closing the door behind her.

            She jumped as she turned around to walk to the kitchen flinging a foreign object across the room that was no object.

            “Ow Ma’Zelle.  Damn.  Did you have to do that?” said the short stout gentleman dressed in a black dashiki ornately embroidered in deep purple threading.

            “I’m sorry Imbar.  Don’t sneak behind me in my house then.”

            “Yes well, I saw you as you came in going straight back to your room with a peculiar package.  What’s in the basket?”  He asked as he got up and made his way back over to her, peeping over her shoulder at her bedroom door.

            “Nothing of your concern,” she said, turning him around and leading him to the kitchen.  “just a going away present for myself.”

            Before her room completely disappeared out of her sight, she cast a barrier spell on the door so no one, especially Imbar, could open it.  Eleven of her most talented trusted and good hearted witches and warlocks were gathered around her kitchen table; Radiis, Imbar, Newlie, Gadar, Tangora, Cyrus, Ketara, Relbyna, Brenton, Hargro, Primus, and Ma’Zelle made Twelve.

            In the center of her kitchen table laid a map of the earth.  There were twelve large, colorful dots on it that each one was assigned to.  They pulled their assignments anonymously so no one else knew where the other was going.  On each assignment were directions to a power source for their new home.  They all were assigned to make a new realm; a new world of sorts to where they guide and assist other beings gifted as themselves, as well as in other ways.

            At the table there was only one that new the exact location of all the power sources.  Her job was to give the map to the leader of the colony in Caroni, only the map.  Her memories of where the power sources were as well as everyone’s knowledge of what they’d seen on the map was to be erased that eve.  Newlie passed out twelve small cups with a smoking concoction, very thick, very sweet and silver.  It was to erase the memories they all shared of the twelve realms.  All they had after that was a parchment of paper with written direction addressed to them alone, not to be shared with anyone of where they were going, where they were leaving, and what they were going to do.

            Prior to drinking the concoction, Ma’Zelle had in hand a memory stone.  She passed her memories to the stone and left it in her pocket.  There was someone else who was being sneaky at the table.  They did not use a memory stone, but prior to drinking as well, they slipped a bark wrapped in a little purple leaf into their mouth with a small cough.  The bark with the leaf was used to weaken the strength of the memory brew and to bring the memories back over time.  Why was it done?  They don’t even know, but they felt it might be information they could use later on.

            “Everyone, we have one bit of business to do before we leave Caroni.  It will take all of us and we must all be ready to leave tonight.”

            “Another mystery, ay Ma?” asked Cyrus.

            “Yes, another mystery,” chuckled Ma’Zelle, “and we have to leave tonight for good.”

            “It’s so soon,” sighed Cyrus.

            “I know I’m not ready to go yet,” said Gadar.

            “ Yes, but we must go.  So it has been told.” Said Brenton

            “I think it’s exciting! “ Beamed Tangora

            “Me too; our own new world.” mooned Imbar.

            “That’s all well and good, but no more Caroni.  Are you willing to give that up?” asked Ketara

            “My realm will be just like Caroni.  I will always have it with me.”

            "You shouldn’t get so attached to things in this always changing world,” replied Imbar

            “We should go now and get our affairs in order,” said Radiis rising from the table.

            “Before you go everyone,” Ma’Zelle said, also rising, “meet me at the river’s edge in the enchanted forest when the moon is highest in the sky.”

            More chairs slid back from the table as more people rose.

            “We don’t have much time, so we best be on our way,” said Ketara.

            “Soon and very soon,” said Primus to Ma’Zelle as he clasped her on the shoulder before walking down the corridor to the front door.

            “We didn’t even get to eat,” whined Imbar

            They all shared a laugh as they continued to exit, making way to their own destinations.  Ma’Zelle too had someplace to go.  Her destination was James, the leader of Caroni.  She rolled up the map and placed a seal on it so that it will only be opened when necessary.  Wanting to pack up so many things in her house, she decided to take the whole thing.  After feeding the baby, she cast him under another spell to keep him content and still during their journeys.  She also took the memory stone out of her pocket.  While forgetting its significance she put the stone in the baby’s pouch his father had placed in his basket.

            Stepping out to the front of her house, she placed her hands in the air as a music conductor would.  She directed the space in front of her shrinking her home and its contents to a miniature version of itself.  She walked over to the shrunken house and picked it up placing it in an ornately carved silver box that was then placed in her bag next to the map.

            James met Ma’Zelle at the entrance to the cave behind the waterfall called ‘God’s Mouth.

            “I got your message and came alone.”

            “You swear you have told no one, not even your brother,” Ma’Zelle inquired looking around.

            “You swear?  What is the meaning of this really?”

            “It is time for us to go.  We have things to do in different locations, but before we go, I have to give you something.”

            “What is it?”

            “Here but don’t open it until the day come that you need it;” she said taking the map out of her bag and handing it to him.

            “How will I know? When it’s time I mean?”

            “It has been said there will come a time when the places where we are going will need this map during a time of civil unrest.  It is coming James.  I need you to be prepared, but don’t tell anyone, especially about this map.  You need to guard it with your life.”

            “I trust your words and I hear you, though I do not understand.  I will guard this map and be as prepared as I can, but I will need to tell people of my preparations so they will know why they do what they do.”

            “If you wish, but keep your circle small. The less to know the better.  No one must be told of the map James, remember that.  I must go.  I hope to see you again one day my friend,” said Ma’Zelle reaching out a hand to cup James’ shoulder. 

             “Likewise Ma’Zelle. I can only hope for Caroni to stay peaceful as it is today.”

             “Listen for the still peace James.  The quiet.  Once all is calm enough to hear a pin drop, the flood gates are going to open and those nearest and dearest to you may be in the flood.”

             “There’s always a lot to digest when I meet with you. Safe journeys my friend.”

             “Thank you James.  Goodbye for now,” she said then vanished as she floated around the waterfall.

James just looked at the space where she was standing then back at the map.

             “For Caroni’s sake Ma’Zelle, I hope this one time you’re wrong,” he said somberly as he walked back to his home stashing the map in his ruby silken robe embroidered with gold threading and brilliant gems.

Ma’Zelle wasn’t the first to arrive at the river’s bank, nor was she the last.

             “Alright Ma’Zelle, we’re all here," said Primus as the final member of their party arrived.

             “Yes, thank you all for doing this.  There is no one else who can," said Ma'Zelle

             “Where are we going?” asked Relbyna.

             “There is a neighboring island, enchanted in secrecy a few miles out to sea.  We need to go there tonight and refortify the islands spells, making it stronger against the dark forces.  GiGi is waiting for us there.”

             There was a ripple of whispering running through the crowd.

             “GiGi?” asked Brenton.

             “I thought she was dead,” said Gadar

             “What happened to her?” asked Hargro.

             “Yes, how did she end up there?” asked Imbar.

             “She was blown over there,” Ma’Zelle chuckled

             “Damn it Ma’Zelle, be serious,” said Cyrus.

             “I am, and she was.  Do you remember a few years past there was a wild, vicious storm with great winds that was not too far from here?”

They shook their heads in agreement.

            “Well GiGi was flying back home that same night from one of her usual outings.  She thought she could handle the winds, but they handled her instead and blew her safely to the island where we are going tonight.”

           “That is funny. Amazing, but funny,” said Imbar.

          “How did you find out about it?” asked Radiis.

          “She sent me a message.  The messengers know the way.  They are one of the few that know the way.

          “How are we getting over there?  I don’t see any boats,” inquired Cyrus.

         “That’s because we’re not taking boats.”

         “Well, what are we talking?” asked Gadar.

         “Those,” said Ma’Zelle, pointing to the water’s edge at twelve large green lily pads with twelve large white lotus flowers trimmed in purple at the guiding head.

         “What about our stuff?” screeched Tangora.

         “I suggest shrinking them, or leave them behind.  The choice is yours,” said Ma’Zelle patting her single bag.

         “I don’t know if I can do all of this Ma’Zelle,” said Newlie sweeping her hand to the mountain of leather trunks behind her.

         “Wow Newlie!  Did you put the whole East Village in your luggage?” laughed Cyrus.

         “I think she took the west side too,” laughed Hargro.

         “No, I did not.  I didn’t know what to bring, so I brought a little of everything,” replied Newlie.

         “Well shrink that pile and stick it in your hand bag,” said Ma’Zelle.

         “Everyone consolidate.  These trunks and luggage pieces are not going to fit on these pads.  Levitate them above you, drag them along in the water below you, or stick them in a single bag or your pocket,” said Radiis.

         There were whirls of colorful dust fragments as witch after witch and warlock after warlock stood in front of their piles and conducted the space in front of them; shrinking the contents to doll house size pieces.

         After collecting their belongings, they each stepped on a lily pad.  With Ma’Zelle taking the point, flanked by Radiis and Ketara, everyone else fell in behind.

         “Off to Cacara,” said Ma’Zelle tapping her foot on the pad.

         “Off to Cacara,” the others repeated following her lead.

         And they floated off across the top of the water standing on their lily pads into the smoky horizon with only the moon lighting their way.

Sistah wins Settlement in "The Matrix".  Could walk away wilth over 2.5 Billion Dollars!

http://donproent.ning.com/profiles/blogs/sophia-stewart-wins-the-matrix?xg_source=facebookshare

      The midday sun burned its way through the forest canopy to see the Chief pouring with sweat, winded and barely able to stand. The Knight had to give the man credit for he never would have believed such stamina and stubbornness existed within the hairy foreigner. The Knight wanted to aid the Chief, but was bound by his wife’s warning to not help unless asked. Instead he’d given him his shield and water when asked, but nothing more. The Knight knew the Chief’s opponent all too well, but dared not give him any clue as to what he futilely fought against. This was the Chief’s ordeal alone and only he could overcome it.

       The Warrioress’ twin blonde braids swung freely as she continued to batter her death’s head shield against the borrowed hammered iron one held by the Chief. It was obvious the contest was over and the man had little if anything left to throw at her. In an almost respectful tone the Warrioress’ said, “Come now Aesir, give it up. You fought well, quite well to be exact. Well enough to be worthy of a fine song. A heroic saga even. But it’s over. Give in to me, yield. I promise you when it ends, you’ll feel all the better for it.” Stumbling backwards the Chief breathlessly replied, “First..., hike up that fur skirt of yours. I can’t let the Knight be the only man in this land to have bedded a Goddess!” The absolute arrogance of the Aesir drew forth the ire of the Warrioress. “How dare you defy me! I am inevitable! You cannot beat me! Give it up. To continue is pointless!” Smiling, the Chief replied, “Oh, so you’re ready for me now? Good. You’ll have to get on top first while I catch my breath....” With an inhuman hiss, the Warrioress brought down her broadsword in a killing arc only to be stopped in a shower of sparks and the sound of hammer on anvil against the Great War Spear!

       “YOU DARE INTERFERE?” roared the Warrioress’ her voice causing the ground to tremble. “Shhhhhh! Don’t wake the Mountain,” whispered the Priestess. The Warrioress slowly dragged her weapon away from the over long spear blade in a further shower of bright sparks. Angrily, the Warrioress suddenly sheathed her weapon and said in a flat tone, “I suppose you’re going to remind me of the ‘usual conditions’.” Still holding the spear between the Warrioress and the confused Chief the Priestess replied, “I am. He has not yielded to you has he?” The Warrioress’ blue eyes burned brightly for a moment and then she abruptly turned her back to them. “Fine! No matter, I retrieved part of my property. At least someone was ‘happy’ to see me.” Again the Warrioress abruptly turned back and looked to the Chief. In her haunting hollow voice she asked, “Aesir, do you still bear a wooden cockerel for me?” Smiling, she slowly started to raise her fur-trimmed skirt.

        With an ear to ear grin the Chief started to his feet, but was suddenly stopped by the flat side of the Great War Spear’s blade laid across his chest. In a warning tone the Priestess retorted, “Not this one Chief of the Aesir. Maybe we’ll find a nice wood or river spirit to tickle your fancy. This one’s not worth the trouble. Besides, you’ll see her again all too soon.” Disappointed the Chief replied, “How about a wood and river nymph my Priestess?” Without looking the Priestess replied, “Don’t press your luck Chief. Well now that’s all settled, you’ll be on your way right old friend?” With a knowing smile the Warrioress replied, “Yes, I wish to be spared the teary good-byes as well. Now that I have your address, I’ll have to come by more often.” In a rippling of air like a desert mirage, the Warrioress disappeared. All who watched her depart could have sworn for a moment they saw the very Death’s Head within the shimmering air as was painted upon her shield.

       The Knight went to his wife’s side and said, “You and your friends....” The Priestess gave a relieved sigh and said, “Well, not all my friends are complete pains in the ass.” Waving, the boy came running over to her and she put an arm around his shoulder. “Husband, meet my new assistant for the shrine.” The boy looked up at the fearsome Valley Knight with trepidation and the man said, “Ho, so you’ll be hanging around my house eh? Don’t get any ideas boy. I’ve still got ears from all the men who tried to steal my wife.” The boy’s eyes once more grew wide, but then the Knight winked at him. The Priestess leaned over and whispered to the boy, “They really stink up the house during the summer!”

       The Chief worn out from his ordeal said, “Did I just miss something? Who in Midgard was that crazy bitch?” The Priestess looked to the boy as he held onto the fish scale and asked, “Do you understand who that was boy?” Fearfully, the boy nodded ‘yes’. Gesturing to the Chief the Priestess said, “Well you can tell him if you want to.” The boy emphatically shook his head ‘no.’ Shrugging her shoulders the Priestess said regrettably, “Well that’s that. See you at the evening meal Chief. Please don’t bring any of that horrible Mead with you!”

       The Chief handed back the Knight’s shield and said, “Thanks for the loan friend. Hey, you know who that was don’t you?” The Knight nodded, gave the Chief a hard pat on the shoulder then joined his wife and the boy as they headed down the mountain path. The Chief threw up his hands and shouted, “Aw come on! You’re not going to just leave and not tell me who I was fighting all damn morning, are you?” Far down the path the Chief heard the Priestess’ yell, “Chief, don’t wake the Mountain!”

The End

© 2011 H. Wolfgang Porter. All Rights Reserved.

Mocha Memoirs Proudly announces the release of Miriam Ruff's "If Only." A story so unnerving, it will leave you double checking your internet friends.

Blog: Mocha Memoirs Press
Post: Look What Miriam just released...If Only
Link: http://mochamemoirspress.blogspot.com/2011/03/look-what-miriam-just-releasedif-only.html

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      ‘Now then, are you going to foul the water again or tell me why a creature like you is in a place where you have no business?’ The massive fish’s words vibrated through the boy’s body once more stilling his shock at being able to breathe. Floating closer to the giant glowing blue eye the boy tried to speak and to his surprise said, “I jumped in the hole to save her!” The scales of the fish changed from blue to greenish as it replied, ‘You came to this place to save someone else? I’ve never heard that one before.’ Now with a bit more courage the boy replied, “Well Sir Fish, it’s true! This bigmouth girl dared me to go up on the dam and then when I did, she dared me to jump into this hole because only the older boys were brave enough to do it! But I wouldn’t and she got mad and pushed me away, but she fell in!”

       The great Fish’s gills flapped twice at the boy’s story and its scales turned yellow. ‘So how did you get here if you would not jump?’ The boy eye’s darted away and the light from the fish’s large eye also turned yellow as its wide pupil narrowed. ‘Well?’ asked the Fish expectantly. Looking back to the eye the boy stammered, “W-well I didn’t want her to be trapped with no one to help her... so I jumped in after her.” The great eye’s pupil widened and suddenly the mouth of the fish was in front of the boy. Rows of teeth shaped like long razor-sharp crystalline swords flashed with the red light emanating from the fish’s body! The boy reflexively covered his face with his arms as he waited to be devoured. Instead, he was buffeted by what could be none other than the vibrations uproarious laughter!

       ‘HA! HA, HA, HA, HA, HA! Oh like I said, this stuff just never gets old! Perchance little one, how familiar was this ‘girl’ to you?’ Too thankful to have not been eaten the boy thought for a moment and realized, he didn’t know the girl at all! That was strange because he could have sworn he knew her.... Suddenly, the eye was right before him and it twitched back and forth as the Fish said, ‘Ah little one, alas you have been tricked. I can tell you that no one you knew directly was there. It was all a ploy to bring you here.’ Confused the boy replied, what do you mean? I saw her! I talked to her! Please tell me, where am I?”

       The Fish’s pupil narrowed a bit and orange light spilled from its body as it said, ‘No little one, whatever you thought you saw was real only to you. And this ‘place’ is no place at all. I can only describe it as  somewhere in-between where you must be in order to get from one place to another.’ Stunned, the boy exclaimed, “How am I supposed to get back? I don’t know the way!” The great eye’s pupil narrowed to a circle the size of the boy’s fist and the Fish’s scales turned a dark red as it replied, ‘I have traveled this way many times and you are only the second being I have ever encountered here. You will not get back unless you know from whence you came.’  Just as the boy was about to panic his father’s words came to him once more as he said, “Stay calm and relaxed.”

       As the boy paddled his arms gently to remain at the level of the monstrous fish’s eye, he thought about how he got into this place. The sudden fear of leaping off the dam, the rush of wind and his explosive entry into the dark waters of the hidden reservoir burst to mind. He had to admit, it was all quite thrilling! He was also thankful to have survived and found the bottom.... On a whim, the boy extended his foot downward and looked where it went. In the light of the fish’s scales, the boy could see his toes as they made contact with a silt covered boulder! It was then he felt his lungs again begin to burn and he once more grabbed at his throat. This time the fish encircled the boy and said, ‘Pull off one of my scales!’ Without having to be told again, the boy yanked off one of the small glowing scales which was large enough to cover half his face. For a second time when his lungs forced him to breathe, the boy did so easily.

       “Thank you Sir Fish! Thank you!” With nothing else to give, the boy stripped off his plainspun loin skirt and placed it in the wound caused by removing the scale. To his astonishment, the wadded skirt changed into a fish scale of the same color and texture as the skirt. ‘Thank you little one. I will keep part of your skin as a reminder of our visit. Now, look above you. The way to your destination is clear. Safe journey and if you meet the other traveler who passed me, give them my greetings if you would.’ Excited, the boy waved to the giant eye and said, “I will Sir Fish! Thank you, thank you very much!” The boy continued to wave until the light of the strange fish faded to nothing.

       Now with both feet on the bottom, the boy looked up and could see the bright blue sky through the hole between the boulders. With one mighty push of his legs, he shot upwards and stretched his hands out toward the surface. Abruptly, a firm hand grabbed him by the arm and pulled him bodily out of the water! Standing next to him on a boulder’s outcrop was a very wet and very annoyed Priestess. Before the boy could say anything, his youthful eyes went wide as he took in the details of the Priestess’ womanly form in her clinging and now see-through soaked garment. Suddenly realizing what the boy was seeing, her ire turned to mirth. “I wouldn’t be so quick to ogle my beautiful naked boy!” The Priestess emphasized her jest with a hard swat on his young backside.

       Literally embarrassed, the boy went to cover his privates, but then remembered the fish scale in his hand. Noticing what the boy held the Priestess said, “Well it seems you and I have a mutual friend.” Shocked the boy exclaimed, “You were the first to meet ‘Sir Fish’?” The Priestess laughed out loud at the boy’s name for the otherworldly being and said smiling, “Oh yes. I met ‘Sir Fish’ a very, very, very long time ago. I’m surprised he still remembers me.” Reaching under her wet robe, the Priestess pulled out a necklace with a large pearlescent fish scale just like the boy held.

      “You’ve been to a very special place boy and come back. It is just as if you had been reborn. From now on, you will see the world very differently. So now you must be very careful who you take challenges from! There are people and things in the world which will want to lead you astray. No more jumping off the dam understood?” The boy nodded emphatically ‘yes.’ “Now, I have to go help a friend. Come, and I’ll show you who played this trick!” The boy had to cover his eyes as the shaded space between the boulders suddenly filled with amber light. And for the second time this day his eyes grew wide as chicken eggs!

© 2011 H. Wolfgang Porter. All Rights Reserved.

Go to Pt. V

      Fearful, the boy slowly and steadily alternated his arms and legs as he tried to make headway towards the surface. Still, no light appeared above him or in any direction for that matter. Periodically he let loose a small stream of precious air to feel which way the bubbles rose. So far, he was still heading upwards. Over and over he remembered his father’s words on deep diving, ‘Stay calm and relaxed. You have much more air in you than you think. Move slowly but steadily and do not try to force your way to the surface. Do these things and you shall become a strong diver.” Now those words were the only things keeping the boy alive. It was then a blue flicker of light appeared above him. ‘The sky!’ was the thought bursting in his head.

      Quickly, the boy fought to calm down for the light was still a distance above him and it would be due to being calm he’d be saved. Upward the boy continued, but the telltale burning in his lungs was growing. Soon, he’d be fighting the urge to breathe, but the light was now so much closer ... and then it moved! In a flash, the blue light the boy thought was the sky shining down on the surface of the water was now the reflection of a massive eye just out of arm’s reach! The boy’s own eyes grew wide as chicken eggs as the light of the eye was joined by the flash of scales from a massive serpentine fish body.

       From the black void of water now illuminated by the immense fish, a voice echoed through his ears and body. ‘What have we here? A tiny, tiny visitor I see. You are much too small to be worth eating and you look ill suited to be in this place. What business is so important to bring you here little one?’ The boy was so surprised he unwittingly vented both his bladder and remaining air at the same time. The ill-timed emptying of his lungs caused the boy to grab his throat in a desperate attempt to keep from breathing, but it was too late. Water rushed in through both nose and lungs and the panic he fought so hard to contain took over. Thrashing about, the boy suddenly realized he was breathing and not drowning! It was then the voice from the massive fish flowed through him again as it said with mirth, ‘That just never gets old!’

       The Priestess stepped down from the entry block of her house onto the gravel path with measured speed. Looking at the interloper wearing the form of an enemy from ages past the Priestess said flatly, “You come here to lay claim for what you think ... you’ve lost? Did it not occur that you had your chance and what you thought yours now belongs to another?” The naked, mud-covered woman’s green eyes narrowed as she unfolded her arms and placed her hands on slender hips. “Oh. So you believe my property now belongs to you? It’s bad enough you create this haven and believe you can keep me out. But that you are also naive enough to lay claim to those things which are rightfully mine is dangerously ill-advised! Who exactly do you think you are?”

      Spreading her feet in the gravel ever so slightly,  the earth trembled imperceptibly as the Priestess replied, “Someone who knows even you have far more important things to do than quibble over three lives.” As if to emphasize her point, she twisted the Great War Spear causing a grinding sound as it dug into the dirt. There was a long tense moment as the naked woman’s green eyes burned bright and the Priestess’ eyes turned to amber fire. At the same instant both women’s eyes took on a more friendly look and the Priestess said, “As always, you prove to be a wise and worthy elder.” A wicked smile crossed the naked woman’s attractive mud-covered face showing bright white teeth to the morning sun. “Ah, there are definitely times when I’m glad I allowed you and that husband of yours to elude my embrace. It is because of you two and a few others my task remains interesting.”

       Giving a deep sigh and dropping her head slightly in defeat the naked woman then said gruffly, “Fine! I expect the usual conditions in order to claim my property.” Bowing her head slightly the Priestess replied, “Of course. I don’t know why you bothered to ask me when you are already  acting upon the usual conditions. It’s not like I ever banned you from performing your duties.” Shrugging her shoulders the naked woman begrudgingly admitted, “True. But you have hidden this place so well and since it’s been so long since we saw each other last, it would have been nice to be invited.”

      The Priestess grunted mocking the woman as she retorted, “Few welcome your presence, let alone consider inviting you to call.” Feigning insult the naked woman replied, “Far more than you think find comfort in my presence young one. Well, looks like our little visit has come to an end. You have company.” The Priestess looked up and saw the Old Grandmother at the boundary of her home just off the road. There was trouble. As the Priestess heeled her horse down the road towards the dam, the Grandmother sat upon a bench beneath the shade tree beside a small shrine outside the Priestess’ home.

       The sun was rising and it was going to be another beautiful but hot summer day. A warm breeze flowed over her dark weatherworn skin and she fanned herself with part of her tan linen garment. A pair of lovely gold bangled dark hands extended a cup of cool water from the shrine to her. Looking up towards the dark face of an equally lovely smiling young woman, the Grandmother gratefully took the cup and said, “Thank you dear. My, how much you remind me of my dear sister....”

       A spray of salty sweat splashed from the Chief’s matted short cropped hair into the face of the shorter blue-eyed warrioress. Despite the contest lasting into the impending furnace of midday, the false Valkyrie didn’t have the decency to at least break a sweat! For the uncounted time their shields slammed together and neither she nor the Chief could gain the upper hand. With her sword pinned by the Chief’s, the Warrior cast those limpid blue eyes up at his and growled, “You just won’t give up will you Aesir? Why keep delaying the inevitable? I can feel you growing weaker by the moment!” Giving his own growl the Chief replied, “What? And give up the chance to make good on parting your firm cheeks... never! I’m just saving my strength so I can spend the rest of this day and night giving you cause to call my name after I sent you back to Nifleheim relieved of your maidenhead.”

       The Valley Knight sat well outside the range of the combatants and observed intently. Everything about this scene was wrong. Though the Chief fought remarkably well against the Knight’s former adversary, it was not possible for him to have lasted this long. When the Knight fought the giant warrior, it was just before he’d escaped the city of his enemies and joined the caravan fated to be lost in the desert storm which led him to the Valley. The way the man fought was nothing as the Knight remembered. The Giant had taxed him beyond his limits with speed, skill and outright savagery. Most importantly, the main reason the Giant should not be here was because the Knight killed him!

       Yet despite having all but cut the Giant’s head from his body, he was here alive and quite well seeming to toy with the Aesir Chief. Suddenly, the Knight saw the air around the black warrior ripple as if he was watching a desert mirage. Blinking fiercely to clear his eyes, the Knight suddenly saw exactly what the Chief struggled against. Now he understood the all too familiar presence he’d felt around him since he ascended the Mountain this day. It was an unwelcome yet ever present companion having dogged his path until the day he’d found the Valley. Now it was here in the Valley and the Chief had no notion of what he was truly up against.

© 2011 H. Wolfgang Porter. All Rights Reserved.

Go to Pt. IV

Peace and blessings, my name is Robert Trujillo and im a muralist/illustrator from Oakland, California (Bay Area). Writing to introduce myself and say what up to all the creative minds here. I am truly honored to find this site today and know you all exist!

Here is a piece from my blog:

After the wind, hail, and ice subsided storm raced furiously across the desert. With each glimmer of the moon she hoped to overstand, how, why, and when the priestess would strike again. A whole town seemingly wiped out. And for what? It was Storm's "Ayanmo" to be special, but now she wondered what to do next.