Sorghum & Spear: Harvest of the All-Mother

By Outland Entertainment

A new world of wonders and adventures await you in this highly original anthology of bold tales inspired by Dedren Snead' s remarkable Sorghum & Spear. Here, celebrated and emerging writers take you on a journey of the imagination, one filled with imperfect heroines reaching for new horizons, dark, distant forces breaking through the veil of time, and those seeking love, sisterhood, and community.

From sunlit savannahs to the rolling fields of bright-stemmed sorghum, to sharp-edged cliffs and lush, green mountaintops, The Eternal Realm unfolds, a mysterious map of memory and legends. But don' t worry if the ground shifts beneath your feet, for some people were born to fly!

Acclaimed poet Linda D. Addison begins with a stirring testimony from “ The Messenger.” Eugen Bacon' s beautiful prose unveils a hidden world and forbidden love, bringing the outsider in with “ Nyamizi, the Skinless One.” Colleen Anderson' s “ Cane and Sword” explores the tumultuous path of Mi-Jung, an arrogant student who learns an invaluable lesson. In Teresa Schile' s “ Fir' yali,” a shapeshifter finds courage in dual forms, as she attempts to rescue loved ones from an unspeakable fate at the hands of demons. The masterful Valjeanne Jeffers evokes the shimmering waters of Oshun, in “ Pray for Peace, Prepare for War.” Nicole Givens Kurtz stuns and surprises with “ Themba' s Test,” depicting the often-ignored strengths of those among us. Two sisters answer the Call of magic in the face of Chaos in J.S. Emuakpor' s “ Sister' s Keeper.” Hard-worn victories, ancient rituals, and rites of passage test ambitions and boundaries in the riveting stories of Oghenechovwe Donald Ekpeki, Alicia McCalla, Sarah A. Macklin, G Dean Manuel, Violette L. Meier, Zelda Knight, and Dedren Snead, as Kenesha Williams skillfully carries you off on “ The Rhythm of War.” An exciting collection in a world we hope you return to again and again!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Outland Entertainment
• Release date: Mar 14, 2023
• ISBN: 9798986833941

Book preview

Front Cover of Sorghum & SpearBook Title of Sorghum & Spear

Copyright © 2022 Dedren Snead (creator), Sheree Renée Thomas (editor), Nisi Shawl (foreword)

All rights reserved.

Published in the United States by SUBSUME and Outland Entertainment.

ISBN: 978-8-9868339-0-3

Cover design and Interior design by Daniel Coates

Cover art by Ananda Nahú

Interior art by Josephine Ruff-Sloan

Printed in the United States of America

www.subsumestudios.com

www.outlandentertainment.com

DEDICATED

TO A MOON AND A STAR

VALJEANNE JEFFERS

Sister Moon

(September 24, 1959 – July 18, 2022)

NICHELLE NICHOLS

(December 28, 1932 – July 30, 2022)

Cosmic Sisters Who Brightened Our World

CONTENTS

Dedication

The Worlds Within | Sheree Renée Thomas

Introduction | Dedren Snead, Creator of Sorghum & Spear

Foreword | Eternity Rising | Nisi Shawl

1. The Messenger | Linda D. Addison

2. Nyamizi, the Skinless One | Eugen Bacon

3. A Darkening | Oghenechovwe Donald Ekpeki

3. Pray for Peace, Prepare for War | Valjeanne Jeffers

4. Themba’s Test | Nicole Givens Kurtz

5. Battle-Axe | Zelda Knight

6. Heart-Song and Blade | Alicia McCalla

7. Sister’s Keeper | J.S. Emuakpor

8. Blade of the Isha | Sarah A. Macklin

9. The Fire In Her Eyes | G Dean Manuel

10. Cane and Sword | Colleen Anderson

11. Xoe the Unexpected | Violette L. Meier

12. The Children Who Could Fly | Dedren Snead

13. Fir’yali | Teresa Schile

14. The Rhythm of War | Kenesha Williams

About the Contributors

Eshe Language Guide

ENGLISH-ESHE Dictionary

Permissions

THE WORLDS WITHIN

Sheree Renée Thomas

Reading fiction is an act of discovery, a full-bodied, sensual, interactive experience in which the words on the page create and stimulate our inner curiosity. It unlocks hidden worlds in our minds and releases the journeyer inside each of us—our desire to know, to connect, to think and feel, to witness.

With Sorghum & Spear: Way of Silk & Stone, comics maverick, multitalented creator, and technological waymaker Dedren Snead has imagined a vivid, rich world of women warriors and goddesses, mothers, wives, sisters, aunts and daughters, oracles, demons, and goblins inspired by cultures that feel rooted in African and Asian lore, geography, and history.

Medievalists have studied the accounts of women warriors amongst the Almoravids of North Africa, in Western Sudan and Ghana just to name a few places. With the success of Ryan Coogler’s Black Panther films, that helped expand the Dora Milaje’s mythos, the popular I Am episode 7 of Lovecraft Country starring Aunjanue Ellis as Hippolyta, and Viola Davis’s epic, The Woman King, there has been a widening audience of those interested in exploring the lives of warrior women. Though the new stories here are set in the Eternal Realm during The Forever War, the tales gathered offer more than warriors training and fighting battles but delves into the magic and power of the world of Orun Aye, and An’Fre psychology and relationships, and the ties that hold lovers and families, whole communities together.

First imagined in full color in the comics panels of his early published works, Snead returns to the world he made with a gathering of gifted writers who each have chosen to take their pens to add their voices and their deep imaginations, expanding the Sorghum & Spear world in action-packed prose.

This imaginative collection of original short stories contains not only the symbolic story seeds of sorghum, atambo, that helps fuel and sustain the magic, seinompo, of the Sorghum & Spear: Way of Silk & Stone World, but an exciting new language guide and dictionary for ambitious readers who enjoy a full, immersive reading experience.

It is clear from acclaimed poet Linda D. Addison’s opening poem, The Messengers, these fine stories, and the beautiful design of the volume, that a great deal of love went into the book’s creation and in the Sorghum & Spear world. For these are stories you enter in the blue hours of the morning, in the solitude of night, fourteen thrilling tales that spark the inner wanderer in you. And it is my hope that you will lose yourself in the worlds within.

INTRODUCTION

Dedren Snead

SORGHUM & SPEAR was born of my love of tabletop Role Playing Games, namely Dungeons and Dragons , growing up as a kid in rural Snow Hill North Carolina during the late 1980’s. I recall a gentler time when we slept with doors unlocked, fields of tobacco and cotton measured the length between neighbors, and it was s special occasion for any group of us to have permission to be in the other’s house for any length of time. I recall the Dungeons and Dragons cartoon airing on CBS, as well as the Nichelle Nichols’ voice on Nickelodeon’s Star Trek . It was so rare to see a Black character back then, particularly one that did not come across solely as a tokenization of our culture or a temporary throw-in for a nascent plot until the next cereal commercial came on.

It was in the world of fantasy that I first began my creative writing. Conan the Barbarian, Thundarr the Barbarian, and several other shows as the genre of Sword and Sorcery captured my imagination. I’d began drawing the characters and designing others to fight or befriend them, and from these ideas my first comic book arrived. It was constant struggle to battle the urban myths of Dungeons and Dragons being a conduit for satanic worship, however in the stalwart Southern Baptist home I grew up in, it was still relegated as a gateway to damnation. My grandmother, rest her soul, would not allow me to even bring my D&D books into the house, instead storing them in a wrapped-up blanket outside in a utility shed. But I could bring in my worn Trapper Keeper full of character sheets, adventures, and sketches. And so, this imagined space began to take shape.

My first fantasy world, BRONZE and BLOOD was a campaign where a group of mercenaries used their mystical and martial talents to brave a blended amalgam between Forgotten Realms, Dragonlance and Ravenloft. None of my friends much cared that my character was always a sable, dreadlocked ranger named Namazzi. I’d modeled here after a musical crush Lauryn Hill when I drew her first, with a sharpened long spear as her primary weapon.

The idea was that Namazzi needed a group of compatriots to take down a Dragon of Lore and was paying well to do brave the caverns outside of the town and to get paid. Everyone raised their hand, not fazed by the stipulation that she wanted it to be an all-female adventure team. It was a common theme that I’d come up with, just growing up with so many women in my life and family, I’d place them in my many stories, imagining and reimagining new lives for them, not privy to the Grown Folks Business they lead otherwise. We wanted more, and intentionally sought out anything that could compliment this African world we’d made, from tidbits of languages or research encyclopedias, as we speculated of a continent none of us had any direct relationship to, and doubts we’d ever see in our lifetimes.

And so, in the years that followed, the world of Orun Aye, and the Eternal Realm guarded by An’Fre warriors came to be. Those notebooks became a comic book, a graphic novel, and even a short-lived animated endeavor. My heroine had now become my business partner, as the timeless Nichelle Nichols became ESHE, The All-Mother. Now

For my own story, you will be reading some of the first parts of our newest consideration in our world; our own living language. We are introducing the official dialect of the Eternal Realm, that of ESHEWE as well. Developed to be a bridging introduction to the myriad lexicons of the African diaspora, I always wanted to have a dedicated way for those who enjoyed our world to be immersed not only with words and images, but with the sounds, inflections and conversations that would breathe vitality into our efforts. As an African American with no living link to the African diaspora, I would often desire to have some language or cultural connection to embrace the same way I saw other Sci-Fi and Fantasy spaces did. Star Trek had Klingon. Game of Thrones has Dothraki. Why couldn’t Black Fantasy have its own vernacular?

This amazing legacy project is no longer mine, no longer the collection of looseleaf scribbles and plot-points maps of graphing paper. The call for the Anthology was global, and in overwhelming response, we found a divine, diverse, and deeply rooted collective of artists, poets and wordsmiths that were willing to grow with our original creative team to make this a seminal project right from the start. I wanted this space of Fantasy and Afrofuturism that we were creating to be an invitation to everyone who sought it out, who in their creative lives or personal loves felt that there may not have been a voice for them. I am confident that our final anthology, now teeming with talent and imagination that far exceeded my loftiest dreams, is a testament that we have such a space.

What you hold in your hands is more than an idea, and more than an ideal. It is a promise. A promise that which binds us in the magic of our shared humanity, which allows us to be more together. A promise of imagination and allows the Black Fantastic in the pages and the projects to come.

Thank YOU for you LOVE & SUPPORT of SORGHUM & SPEAR.

Dedren Snead

Creator, SORGHUM & SPEAR

FOREWORD

ETERNITY RISING

Nisi Shawl

The Eternal Realm of Orun Aye holds a special place in my heart. Home of the An’Fre, women who procreate magically with no need of men; cradle of queendoms; birthplace of agriculture, metalsmithing, weaving, and war; this realm has battled for eons against enemy monsters. As Sorghum and Spear opens, the monstrous goblins and their monstrous masters, the Abiku , appear to have the upper hand. But a new generation of preadolescent girls stands trained and ready to take up their challenge.

In Michigan, long ago, back when I was a nine-year-old, I ran wild in the vacant lots of my Northside Kalamazoo neighborhood. My sisters and female cousins and I brandished spears of ragweed and galloped into imaginary battles on trusty downed sapling steeds, defeating fantastic hordes of evildoers between lunch and supper. We robbed dragons of their gold and bandits of their plunder. We rescued royal captives and terrorized poor, unsuspecting boys with our shrieking ambushes.

The stories collected in this anthology are redolent of that freedom. The joy of fighting, the bliss of victory: we knew them both then, and I know them now again within the pages of Sorghum and Spear. The existence of Valkyrie maidens in Norse culture and maenads in Greek legend attest to the martial potential of young girls, and of course other parallels exist as well. Tapping into this archetypal power, anthology publisher and Orun Aye creator Dedren Snead draws also on the profound depths of African mythologies: the mores of Yorubaland, Ethiopia, and many other countries of the continent add their savor to his delightful literary concoction.

Newcomers and veterans alike have contributed compelling tales to this daring shared-world anthology. Colleen Anderson’s Cane and Sword explores the path of an arrogant student called Mi-jung. Though well-versed

in the fighting arts, she must undergo an excruciatingly intense ordeal to learn the interdependence of all things. In Teresa Schile’s Fir’yali, a shapeshifting leopard girl snatches her mother and sisters from the imprisoning cages of demons. The always-impressive Valjeanne Jeffers evokes the overwhelming waters of the shimmering, golden goddess Oshun in Pray for Peace, Prepare for War. Nicole Givens Kurtz stuns and surprises with Themba’s Test, depicting the often-ignored strengths of those with greater-than-average size and weight. The Unexpected in Violette L. Meier’s story is also the protagonist—in this case an unanticipated guest who turns on her demonic hosts.

And there are other authors, other stories, other vivid, memorable characters—as you’re about to discover.

The daughters of Orun Aye are depicted here by writers from a wide spectrum of backgrounds and experiences, but they share a common goal: bringing to their readers the exhilarating sense of getting it right, the delight in one’s own competence felt by fresh-minted participants in a time-tested way of life, and the self-assurance that comes from besting truly villainous villains.

So, as you open this book, open your heart. Open it to innocence, to fierceness, to a whole-minded determination to do the right thing. To the eternal splendor of the gifts of Sorghum and Spear.

THE MESSENGER

Linda D. Addison

An elder warrior wakes from Dreamsleep, slowly stretching, body stiff from wounds healed a long time ago, taking painful steps to the entrance of a one room shelter, near the top of Mount Juleh, honored to live so close to the sky.

Raw, screaming images from last night’s dream rumble in her mind a storm is coming, the eaters of light are returning Eshe, All-Mother, whispered in her soul: the Daughters must be warned, readied.

Leaning on her staff, thumb rubbing the curves of sorghum grain carvings, shattered hope that the demon war was finished burning in her stomach, they are returning, the last battle, a lifetime ago.

Many have scattered & died since that time, the war reborn as fables repeated around nightly fires, heard & forgotten by youth. She begins the tedious walk to the village below some will hear her warning, they must!

I will pass on your message, Eshe, to waken sacred magic in young warriors descended from the First Daughters, surely this is why the village below has been hidden from others all these years, for this day.

She now knows why long life was gifted to an old warrior, to serve as Her voice: It is time to wake, prepare to fight. The grey goblins, monsters without honor without fear, hungry for their flesh.

Stumbling into the village, young ones help her walk. She sees the spark of invincible spirit shine thru their eyes & knows the way of the Warrior still lives, they will listen: Gather the village, I have a message…

NYAMIZI, THE SKINLESS ONE

Eugen Bacon

Rain cascades to the rhythm of drums in her head. Its wet invitation washes Nyamizi for the role she was born into—setting aside all the traditions of the Moon Goddess. She understands that she’s half-breed, and one side is winning in her core. Without guidance from her mother, right now is about dancing with the sky, emptying her soul of itself until she feels nothing but the joy of giving—even when it means swaying in the rain and chanting farewell to all Nyamizi knows.

She thinks of her mother, the music warrior.

A crescendo of beats on downturned calabashes and pots faded to where no one saw.

"Again, mazi, begged Nyamizi. Please play the beats."

Tomorrow, I promise, said Pili. For tonight you must sleep. A cough tickled her chest. Today, there was blood.

She put away the pots, lined the calabashes along the wall near the three-stone hearth. Tucked Nyamizi with a leopard skin and watched her bout with sleep until it conquered. She continued to watch her daughter purr lightly on the soft grass bed inside the darkened cave.

Pili took the opportunity of silence—not that the child irked, but she was a curious one full of questions—to ponder life. And death. She smiled wryly.

Inside was inside, yet outside was everywhere in a forbidden love that transitioned to nowhere in a sleeping cave. Many years ago, she’d kept lanterns burning, but darkness was a surety despite her visitor who brought gifts of goat milk, yams, cassava, mangoes, a dangle of rabbits tied to a pole, millet wine and sorghum beer. It didn’t take long for Pili and her visitor to know the moment when a strange amity became something else, along with a race of pulse, a linger of touch. Smell became sentiment, and the aroma of kudu lily and devil’s thorn entered with the woman who was an enemy and a friend to Pili and all she knew.

Her name was Sumba, a daughter of Sorghum. She touched Pili like a lucky bean creeper. One dusk, Sumba walked barefoot as before into the cave, but this time put her face near Pili’s lips, cupped her chin and became a lover. It was a touch that was a melt, or perhaps it was Pili who melted—lit by countless sunlights that fell to an eon of winters when Sumba left.

Yes, inside was inside, no matter the womb of time. The tale was the same, just a little different now. A mother’s love for her daughter was its own ilk. Nyamizi had no skin, and her eyes were white—unlike lush-haired Sumba whose skin was alive with the color of mud. Perhaps it was a whisper of ghosts in Nyamizi’s hair that made it yellow, and Pili understood that they told the child about birth and death, and everything in-between that goats, giants and goblins knew. Outside had foes. Demons attacking every which way in a forever war.

It was no secret that Nyamizi saw them in her dreams. It worried Pili to see the child fret in her sleep, until she snapped to, sat up with her cry of alarm. "Mazi!"

Hush, my child.

Are they real?

"Demons? I can’t tell about the ones you see, oponzi, dear child."

Why are we outcasts?

"Yo mbago, I love you—this you must know. Although I have raised you in a hole and feel that you’re sinking towards dark water in your dreams. You already know you’re half and half. Hybrid. Metztli the Moon Goddess doesn’t like this."

What about the demons?

What about them, child?

Do they care about outcasts?

I would have hoped for a care of nurture, but I think not.

And why so, mother?

I am the vessel that swallowed echoes and Lifeseed from a daughter of Eshe. The Moon Goddess and the spellcaster are unhappy with this.

And is that a mind?

That is no mind to me, my child.

For why, mazi?

Because your heart, oponzi, dear child, is the sweet flower upon tugging waves.

It went on… The child’s curiosity endless, silenced for a moment with a yearning. "Hum me a song, mazi."

Let me find you a story of the Eternal Realm and tell you why, with those eyes, you are a fire watcher.

Nyamizi is good with the arrow, bending the vushale just right before release. She’s now perfect with a spear but wonders if her weapons are enough to keep away an army of demons. Her mother did best to prepare her for the outside world. Stepping out of the cave, Nyamizi hadn’t expected it to be surrounded by the worlds of her mother’s stories. Tall palm trees with shiny leaves pregnant with water. Golden sand that warms toes. God-perfect waters filled with memory. That perfection is the world of the holy city, not here.

Outside is worse than Nyamizi expected. It’s dark and wet and full of smells. It’s a horrible place to die, especially alone. After a night of following the sound of rain, she succumbs to sleep. There, her dreams become flesh, take on faces of long-haired warriors battling ruby-eyed beasts far older than time. Nyamizi stands, entranced, white-eyed and watching: litheness and leanness, speed and muscle, atop a sacred mountain in the distance. She beholds the beauty of war, the longing to guard and protect in a clink of swords, a whizz of arrows that look you in the eye and make widows and orphans.

On one hand, sight of the bloodied knoll puts fear in her stomach—the kind of terror that clutches, then claws. On the other it’s a call. Valour is curled inside her fear. Nyamizi has a calling to be there, near the horizon, close to the mountain peak. It’s a long way, but it calls to her.

She falls out of sleep in panic or worry that the dream will never