Blacktastic! the Blacktasticon 2018 Anthology Read online

  Blacktastic!

  The BLacktasticon 2018

  Anthology

  Edited

  by

  Milton J. Davis

  MVmedia, LLC

  Fayetteville, GA

  COPYRIGHT © 2018 BY MVmedia, LLC.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher, addressed “Attention: Permissions Coordinator,” at the address below.

  MVmedia, LLC

  PO Box 1465

  Fayetteville, GA 30215

  www.mvmediaatl.com

  Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.

  Book Layout ©2017 BookDesignTemplates.com

  Ordering Information:

  Quantity sales. Special discounts are available on quantity purchases by corporations, associations, and others. For details, contact the “Special Sales Department” at the address above.

  Blacktastic.—1st ed.

  ISBN 978-0-9992789-3-2

  Contents

  Twice, At Once, Separated by Linda D. Addison

  Malaika Descending By Sheree Renée Thomas

  Belly Speaker By Nicole Kurtz

  Southern Comfort by Valjeanne Jeffers

  Hellfire By Kenesha Williams

  Fearless By Balogun Ojetade

  Wrath By Kyoko M

  Embers by M. Haynes

  Fallen Angels by Alan Jones

  Serket by Violette L. Meier

  Reaping Willow by Azziza Sphinx

  Landfall By Milton Davis

  Blacktastic! Bios

  To the Dreamers and Believers of the Black Fantastic

  “People have the right to call themselves whatever they like. That doesn't bother me. It's other people doing the calling that bothers me.”

  ― Octavia E. Butler

  Twice, At Once, Separated

  by

  Linda D. Addison

  “The shaman came together to find a cure for the sickness in the people’s souls that caused children to be born sick. They changed into strong hekura—jaguar, ocelot, puma—and climbed the ladder of the earth to search for the soul-eater’s path. The only way to save their children’s souls was to leave the poisoned place, go beyond the sky layer. The people entered Ship to follow the path to the demon’s birthplace, where they will once again change into strong hekura and destroy the demon’s nest, releasing the captured souls so children can again be born strong and healthy.”

  Chant taught to every Yanomami shaman

  THE ARTIFICIAL SUNLIGHT of Ship drew sharp shadows around the men sitting in the dirt of the central plaza of Bataasi-teri village. The scent of roasted plantains, from the communal fire, filled the air. Xotama stood in the shade of the circular village and listened to the wedding contract play out. Mayomi, her grandmother, sat within listening distance, nodding at their shaman, Hurewa, when an acceptable number of valuable items were mentioned. They were haggling about woven baskets. Hurewa, with his usual calm, simply shook his head at the numbers they proposed.

  Mayomi had spent a long time, the night before, talking to Xotama about the planned marriage. No matter what she said, Xotama felt sick inside. A restless night made her feel no better today. Her life was haunted by a sense of being splintered. She had gone through the cleansing ceremony to remove the pain left by her mother’s death, but no amount of meditation or rituals helped. Only her dreams gave her temporary comfort. Dreams of being with someone she didn’t know, whose face she never saw.

  “Tutewa will be a good husband,” Rahimi, her best friend, said. “He’s generous and not bad to look at. He’s moving here to look after your grandmother, so we’ll still see each other.”

  Xotama found his round face and deep brown eyes attractive. He had meticulously painted circles and bands of red ochre over his entire body.

  She turned the slender white stick that pierced her nasal septum. “I know. It’s not him, it’s me. I’m not—” The expected path of her life caught in her throat.

  Rahimi put her arm around Xotama’s waist. “Is it the dreams again?” she whispered.

  Xotama nodded. “I’ve tried to forget them but she came to me again last night. I can’t do this now.” She pulled away from Rahimi and walked into the central plaza. The conversation stopped.

  “What is this, does the bride need a closer look at her husband-to-be?” Tutewa’s father said. “Stand up, son, let her see how strong you are. There will be no empty bellies in your hammock. We are good hunters.” He prodded Tutewa.

  He started to stand, but Xotama gestured for him to sit. “No, I’m sorry, this isn’t...” Her voice faded under their stares.

  Mayomi rushed over to her. “Forgive my granddaughter. She’s not herself today.”

  “She seems very much herself today, grandmother,” Hurewa said. “What are you trying to say, Xotama?”

  “I’m sorry, but I’m not ready to agree to a marriage contract,” Xotama said. She saw Rahimi put her hands over her mouth.

  Everyone started shouting at once.

  Above the villages and forest, beyond the sky created by technology, a meta-plasmic layer contained the neural web called Ship. A Watcher let her mind roam the forest quadrant of the hollowed out, terra-formed asteroid where Xotama stood. Their minds touched through the bio-implants all Yanomami had in their brains. The Watcher’s real body was in slow stasis, growing old a hundred times slower than those who inhabited the forests. Her mind lived in the virtual world sustained by Ship.

  Today she worked in navigation, in the form of a green-furred monkey with four arms. Long fingers moved quickly over a multi-colored ball of writhing vines, tapping any ends that snaked out. Each touch generated a bright spark of light, making the end flow back into the center of the vine ball. The echo of dreams shared with Xotama sang back at her, just as they haunted Xotama.

  She drank in Xotama’s turmoil, smoothed it over her virtual face, breathing in the sharp, sweet flavor of discontent. There was a corresponding hunger in her, a breach. Though she knew more than Xotama, the knowledge did little to feed the unsettling emptiness.

  ...tell me, what troubles you... Ship asked, a gentle whisper in her mind.

  Talking with Ship was like floating under water. She surrendered to the smothering, reminding herself there was no body to suffocate, just a sensation in the mind, to treat it like a dream and enter gently, as if falling asleep.

  (I cannot find the words) she thought to it.

  ...what does it look like?...

  She let the hunger take shape: a dark circle broken in two, one jagged piece disappears, the other grows larger, one eye appears in the center, tears of light slowly fall from the eye, the dark half becomes a tattered sail, beating wildly in a firestorm that consumes the light, the eye begins to close.

  ...enough... Ship s
aid, dissolving the images.

  In navigation, tendrils of vine whipped through the air. She worked rapidly to get the vines back in control. An otter with orange skin and three pairs of arms swam into navigation. He licked her face, transmitting his genetic designation, and began to work over the vines.

  ...I have tasted your discomfort for a long time but hoped you would settle it on your own... Ship said. ...she cannot heal without you...you must find a way or you will both be lost...

  She thought the word ‘home’ and was in her virtual hammock, in the vast circular village that housed all the Watchers. A neighbor in the shape of a golden panther nudged her with his shoulder. His touch was like an early morning breeze. He asked, (why are you afraid?)

  (I am broken and I don’t know how to become whole) she said.

  Mayomi grabbed Xotama’s arm to pull her away. Hurewa stood and gently moved the grandmother aside. He cupped Xotama’s face in his hands, stared hard into her eyes. After caressing the moon-shaped birthmark on her left cheek, he clapped his hands to get everyone’s attention.

  Xotama looked at Tutewa and felt a flutter of desire mixed with sadness.

  “What is wrong with this girl?” Tutewa’s father said, pointing at her. “Does she think my son is not good enough?”

  “Let her be, father,” Tutewa said. “I want to hear what she has to say.”

  Xotama fought back tears, wanting to give some explanation, but she didn’t know where to start.

  “Let me tell you about a dream I had last night,” Hurewa said. “I saw Xotama’s birthmark on the beak of a golden toucan surrounded by other birds, with bright red and blue feathers, perched on white rocks. They rose into the sky as one, leaving the golden bird on the ground. A hekura in the shape of a young leopard crept into the circle of rocks. Its eyes glowed red. I recognized it as my hekura and stood in front of the golden bird as the leopard leapt. I took it into my chest and saw the bird’s true form through the leopard eyes. A young girl, staring at her shadow on the ground, drawn by bright moonlight. Her shadow lifted off the ground and stood next to her. The moon came closer until it was so bright I had to run into the forest.

  “What do you see in your dreams, Xotama?”

  She took a deep breath and said, “There is another in my dreams, someone I never see but can sense. She has shown me many things. Last night we flew high above a green forest, dotted sparsely with villages, brown circular pots, their edges stretched inward to a flickering center. I wasn’t afraid because she was with me. I don’t know who she is or what the dreams mean. When I wake I feel like half a person.

  “I think only Ship can help me understand what these dreams mean.”

  A young man from Tutewa’s village said, “Women are not allowed to talk to Ship.”

  “There are women Watchers,” Xotama said. “There are stories of women shaman. I don’t think Ship cares that I have a womb.”

  This started the yelling again. Hurewa had to bang two gourds to get everyone’s attention. “We live inside Ship, not unlike a womb. Without Ship we would spill into the airless trail we follow, our souls eaten by the Soul Killer. I’m not going to judge for Ship. Which of you think you can?” No one said a word.

  “When I woke this morning, the air was full of big and small magic,” the shaman said. “Xotama must walk the path of the spirits before we have any more discussions of marriage. Important dreams have to be honored.”

  Tutewa walked over to Xotama and spit on the ground in front of her to signify the path was clear between them. “I accept that you need to settle this storm inside. I will wait twenty days for a message from you. If I hear nothing, I’ll consider our marriage bond dissolved.”

  He walked away, followed by his father and the three other men from his village. They ducked out the narrow opening of the walled village, into the forest.

  Part of her didn’t want him to go. If only she could push this pain away and be happy in her life. She balled up her fists. What was wrong with her?

  Hurewa took Xotama’s hand and led her across the center court to a shaded area. Mayomi followed. The three of them sat on the ground. They sat out of earshot of everyone else. More people drifted into the village center. Men, women and children gathered on the far side of the center fire, keeping a cautious distance between themselves and Xotama.

  “A path of fire waits in front of you before your journey ends,” Hurewa said. “The end is the beginning. Enter the circle. I have seen this as a waking dream.”

  “The circle?” Xotama asked.

  “You’ll understand when the time comes. It will take all your courage to heal this breach. The flow of this day has been changed by your words and my dream messenger. It wouldn’t be wise to stop now. Are you ready to begin?”

  Xotama took a quick breath. She hadn’t thought beyond the aching need to stop today’s events. “I—I don’t know. Will you come with me?”

  “No. You must do this alone. It will be dangerous. Not everyone who seeks Ship returns.”

  “There must be another way,” Mayomi pleaded. “I’ve taken care of her since her mother died giving birth. Her father entrusted me with her life when he moved to another village to marry. I fear her mother’s spirit lingers nearby, pulling at her.”

  “Someone lingers near, but it’s not her mother.” The shaman stared hard at Mayomi.

  Mayomi looked stricken, opened her mouth as if to speak, but put her fist over it instead.

  “You will follow the river to the place where no one lives.” Hurewa held Xotama’s hands. “There, if Ship is agreeable, you may be returned to the shadow in your dreams. We will sit vigil for your return.”

  Tears fell from Mayomi’s eyes, but she said nothing.

  “Let’s go,” he said.

  They stood and walked to the village’s exit. No one approached them. Rahimi looked like she wanted to follow them but her mother was holding her arm.

  “What about supplies?” Mayomi asked.

  “Ship will give her what she needs,” he said. “We should go from here alone, Mayomi.”

  “Remember that I love you,” Mayomi whispered in Xotama’s ear, hugging her tightly.

  They walked to the river down a rarely used path. The thick, sweet scent of flowering vines lifted Xotama’s soul; their red blossoms made her smile. The hõrema bird began its afternoon song: “were, were, were...” A little of her fear dissipated in the air of the forest. This could be just another day if not for the fact that she was leaving everyone she knew to search for an unknown person in a place she’d never been before.

  A freshly carved canoe waited on the bank.

  “This is my personal canoe. It will carry you to the next place,” the shaman said. He mixed some earth with spit in his hands and smoothed the mixture over the bow of the canoe, working a spell of protection into the wood.

  “Thank you for believing me,” she said.

  “There is strong magic in you. I wouldn’t be a good shaman if I ignored it.” He helped her into the canoe, handed her a paddle and pushed the canoe towards the center of the river.

  She waved at him as the river carried her away. The current moved well enough that she only used the paddle to push away from rocks or fallen tree trunks. Light from the afternoon sky, and the water’s rocking motion, made her sleepy. Her hand slipped over the edge of the canoe, trailing in the current.

  Xotama dreamed she changed into an eel and slid into the river. The other was also there as an eel. They danced in the water, slithering around each other, over and under thick tree roots. There were no words between them, just a perfect dance. Their tails and heads wrapped together to make a wing shape that lifted into the sky as, below, the canoe filled with water.

  Xotama woke to water flooding the canoe. She tried using her cupped hands to bail it out, but the canoe tipped over, dumping her into the foaming waves. Under water, a tangle of tree roots threatened to hold her down. She kicked up to the surface before she got too snarled in the roots and
swam to the bank.

  She sat on the muddy edge, catching her breath. Now what? The river had carried her away from known territory, and without a canoe she had no idea where to go next. The ground rose, not far from the river, to a hill dense with growth. Trapped between the water and the thick bush, she reasoned that, if this was as far as the canoe took her, the rest of her journey would have to be on foot. Xotama worked her way up the hill, away from the river’s edge.

  In the overgrown bush, little sunlight passed through the thick canopy. Scrub brush and thick vines, in shades of gray, covered the ground, making walking difficult. There was no sign anyone ever walked this way, not even an overgrown trail. Pushing through whatever vegetation yielded, she heard a rumble overhead, like a coming storm.

  She tried not to think about the snakes and rodents living under the tangle of vines and rotting leaves. Twice, Xotama stopped to dig a thorn out of her foot. By the time she reached dry ground, she was limping, her body covered with bleeding scratches. Despite eating a couple of tangerine colored ediweshi on the way, she was dizzy from lack of food. The palm fruit took the edge off her thirst but left her hungry and weak. The rumbling above grew louder. Nausea twisted her stomach, but she pushed on until she found a small opening in a hillside. She picked up a stick in case snakes lived in the cave; it would be safer there than in the dark jungle if a storm broke.

  Just as she squeezed into the cave, a palm tree crashed down at the entrance. Her scream was swallowed by the thunder of a summer storm. Unable to hold back the nausea, she vomited. Choking on bile, Xotama squeezed deeper into the cave. She listened for sounds of something alive besides her but could hear nothing over the roar of the storm.

  Too weak to go on, she crouched with her back against a stone wall. She would die here. Alone, with no songs or rituals to take care of her decaying body, her spirit lost forever. She cried softly, curling into a ball.

  What made her think Ship would talk to her, even let her enter its sacred space to answer her questions? What place did her small lost life have in Ship’s larger existence; in the journey of the people? Drifting into unconsciousness, her last thought was that she had no one to blame except herself.