Bealz, Prince Of The SouthSide

21 Askauri didn't know how long he'd slept but he did feel much better, his thoughts were much more clear. He was concerned, however, that he could sense neither Bealz nor Monie. He felt their fading essence, knew that they had passed through the valley of flowers that lay here between the base of the hill and the forest. But now they were gone. It was no surprise to him that Monie had gotten them out or that this is where they had stepped through. The forest served as a transom, a thin place between worlds. It was fairly aligned with the ghost of the forests and plains that once covered the land where Chicago now sat and could often be heard throughout this region mourning the loss of its sister wood on Earth. Considering the journey they had to take, the years of struggle she and Bealz had faced alone, Askauri was thankful that Monique had been able to summon the strength to do what was needed. To bring them here. He had no idea just how inadequat

17 Jo-Mel slashes the arrow in two with a swift swipe of the katana, snapping its shaft just inches before the tip finds its mark. “No time for that,” she says quite calmly for someone who'd just been fired upon. “You must find and free the boy. This one is dead, but its weavings will still have your son bound.” “You stay right where you are,” Monique Felani says with deadly seriousness. She already has another arrow nocked and aimed at Jo-Mel's head. “I can help. If you allow it.” “Yeah, well, I don't know you like that. Ain't done so well with strangers so far.” Lowering the katana, Jo-Mel says, “Understood. But I'm here at Askauri's behest and you should know that the wilds of the Incata are best navigated by the wit of two women.” Peering closer, Monie says, “I know you...” “Yes,” Jo-Mel says. “And you know that I mean you no harm, Monique Felani.” 18 Bealz is gone. No where to be found amongst the

19 Bealz was still wrapped up in Pickle-Me-Jack's webs. He was still trapped in a loop, a snippet of a recent, happy recollection. But the landscape had changed. This was no longer his memory. He no longer recognized it. The sky had grown dark. A huge black storm cloud had suddenly settled in over the valley. It was a huge and terrible thing, shot through with roiling flame and lanced with lightning. He shuddered in fear. It wasn't the storm that frightened him, though. He felt his mother near, felt her shielding him, almost, but couldn't see her. Bealz called out to her, his words carried away on the increasing winds. The ground thrums, he can feel the vibrations buzzing up through the soles of his feet, making his legs and knees wobble. There is something else in the sky. Something fighting for position with the dark cloud. It was somehow darker than the storm, which was wickedly fierce and thunderous. Bealz didn't like to look at it

17 Jo-Mel slashes the arrow in two with a swift swipe of the katana, snapping its shaft just inches before the tip found its mark. “No time for that,” she says quite calmly for someone who'd just been fired upon. “You must find and free the boy. This one is dead, but its weavings will still have your son bound.” “You stay right where you are,” Monique Felani says with deadly seriousness. She already has another arrow nocked and aimed at Jo-Mel's head. “I can help. If you allow it.” “Yeah, well, I don't know you like that. Ain't done so well with strangers so far.” Lowering the katana, Jo-Mel says, “Understood. But I'm here at Askauri's behest and you should know that the wilds of the Incata are best navigated by the wit of two women.” Peering closer, Monie says, “I know you...” “Yes,” Jo-Mel says. “And you know that I mean you no harm, Monique Felani.” 18 Bealz is gone. No where to be found amongst

The understanding of the necessities of an Afrocentric point of view being represented in science fiction and fantasy is only new to the mainstream. The fact is, however, that many of the most recognizably mainstream ideas to date can be directly attributed to such unheralded giants in the genre as the influential Octavia Butler   ( https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Octavia_E._Butler ), whose works are currently being adapted for television by the formidable Ava DuVernay , N. K. Jemisin , the first black writer to win the Hugo Award for Best Novel and Nnedi, Okorafor , who's work, Who Fears Death , has been optioned for series by HBO with backing from George R.R. Martin, author of the book series responsible for A Game Of Thrones. These voices and many many more have not only made significant contributions to the genre of science fiction and fantasy, but they have created their own space within it, finding their own place of empowerment. This creative space is of the utmost i

I Bealz was 11 years old. His dad had been gone, locked up since before he was even born. Bealz's mom never really said anything about him, his dad. She would just kinda start looking real sad and say stuff like, “I don't know, baby,” or “I wish I could tell you more, honey,” or “leave me alone, lil nigga!” Or something like that. Bealz was sad a lot. He didn't show it, though. At least not like they do in the movies and on tv. Like the white kids get to do. He couldn't act like that. Not where he was from. He often noticed the kids on tv. They had lawns and always had huge, over-sized boxes of colorful cereals that the Arabs down the street from him didn't have on the shelves and they had brand new bicycles and giant smiles. They also had moms and most of them even had dads. Bealz did too. Just not like theirs. Bealz's mom was around sometimes. He mostly stayed with his grandma, Ms. Penny, t