A new week of Women in SF&F Month starts today with a guest post by Cheryl S. Ntumy! Her short fiction includes “The Ghost of Dzablui Estate” in The Bright Mirror: Women of Global Solarpunk, “Godmother” in Apex Magazine and later The Best of World SF: Volume 3, and those in her BSFA Award–nominated collection Black Friday: Short Stories from Africa. She’s also written stories set in the shared Afrocentric speculative fiction universe named the Sauútiverse, including the novella Songs for the Shadows and the Nommo Award–nominated short story “The Way of Baa’gh” from the anthology Mothersound. I’m thrilled she’s here today to discuss her Nommo Award–nominated fantasy novel (being rereleased tomorrow!) in “The Gods Made Me Do It: Spirituality and Autonomy in They Made Us Blood and Fury.”

About They Made Us Blood and Fury:

Anyi is the gem of the Countless Clans. Their Queens make lifeblood, a magical substance used for everything from medicine to weapons. Once, Anyi had so much lifeblood that they gave it away. Now their Queen is dying, none of her daughters, the Diviewe, can produce lifeblood and the gods that guide the clan have gone silent.

In the Empire of Ka, Anyi native Aseye dreams of leaving her work at the imperial armory to strike out on her own. Kwame, a spy with a hidden heritage, is a charming distraction. A man of conflicting loyalties, he’s not to be trusted with Aseye’s heart — or her secret, buried so deep that even she doesn’t remember it. A secret that could end her life.

As Anyi’s lifeblood dwindles, the Diviewe beg the Elders to unleash an ancient weapon to save the clan. The Elders refuse. The Diviewe take matters into their own hands. But the weapon is not what they thought it would be, and it’s not the only thing to wake…

The Gods Made Me Do It: Spirituality and Autonomy in They Made Us Blood and Fury
By Cheryl S. Ntumy

In the West-Africa inspired world of my novel They Made Us Blood and Fury, gods are real. Everyone knows what they look like and where they live. Some people honour the gods, some don’t, and some fall somewhere in between, but doubting their existence would be like doubting the existence of a major celebrity.

What’s up for debate is the will of the gods; like celebrities, they tend not to hang out with the masses. Spiritual leaders serve as publicists, of a sort. Mamiga, Soul Mother of the Anyi clan, speaks to the gods and guides the clan accordingly. That is, until the gods give her the silent treatment in a time of crisis:

“Are you saying the gods have abandoned you?”

Mamiga stiffened at the voice. It belonged to Adevu, the eldest among them and the most revered. She was surprised it had taken him this long to comment. Her head turned in his direction. He sat at the back, a gesture of feigned humility she had long grown used to.

“I didn’t say so.”

“But it is implied.”

Everyone else had fallen silent, though many nodded their assent.

Mamiga took a deep breath. “I can’t presume to know the minds of the gods, but—”

“Can’t presume?” Adevu coughed to draw all eyes to him, then offered his audience a bemused smile. “This is confusing. Knowing the minds of the gods is your sacred task. It’s precisely what you have been doing all this time. All of a sudden, now that disaster is upon us, you tell us you can’t presume.” He spread his hands and lifted his shoulders in a theatrical shrug. “What are we to make of that? Are you Anyi’s Soul Mother, or are you not?” – p.127

A little background: the people of Anyi are unique among the Countless Clans, with their silver blood and slumbering, cocooned queen who exists only to secrete a magical substance called lifeblood. Anyi produces so much of the stuff they’ve been giving it away. Known for their piety and pacifism, they think themselves righteous. Blessed. They have no army — and no enemies, as far as they know — yet in every generation the leaders of Anyi lock a fierce warrior spirit into the body of a baby as a failsafe, just in case. So far, the human vessels have led normal lives, oblivious of the monster within. But when the lifeblood dwindles and other clans refuse to help, someone wakes the warrior to force the clans into submission.

Religion often serves as part of the worldbuilding in fantasy fiction, a backdrop that can be tapped into whenever there’s a need for a fanatic or two, or an ideological battle between factions. I wanted to reflect religion as an integral part of a culture, something everyone takes for granted. I wanted to explore how spirituality influences our actions. Moreover, I wanted to depict forces so far beyond human perception that we can’t begin to comprehend them, and the naivety (or is it hubris?) that tells us we can.

For those of faith, questions of integrity, ethics and decency are bundled up with the will of the gods. It’s as instinctive and powerful as the fight or flight reflex. This is the kind of faith that drives Mamiga, supported by her ability as a seer. It’s a lot more difficult to question the gods when your visions always come to pass! When the gods summon her to their forest, a place filled with so many dangers that most who venture there never return, it doesn’t even occur to her to refuse. She trusts the gods, and she trusts the traditions of her people. Discomfort must be put aside. Doubt must be put aside:

Mamiga’s hands shook as she pulled her cloth tighter around her shoulders. She could see nothing ahead of her but trees and trees and noises so loud they cast shadows. There was no space in between for her, for breath. She would die here. The gods had called her to sacrifice herself. For the greater good. For Anyi. – p.233

The vessel, a young woman named Aseye, is far from home when the spirit takes over. While the spirit is theoretical for Mamiga, Aseye must live with the torment of actually housing it:

Aseye’s brain snapped in two. Her consciousness fell down, down, down and lay on its back in the dark. The other mind moved above her, all writhing fury.

She was aware of her arm ripping from the man’s grip. She felt her elbow slam into his throat, felt her leg rise up to kick him into one of the wooden poles that held up the stalls, heard the pole splinter. She registered the screams, saw the other people coming to intervene, felt her limbs swivel and strike, saw the bodies lying still around her. She didn’t want to see. It was better when she didn’t know, when it happened outside of her and she woke to the aftermath. This was too much, too painful, too wicked.

Don’t worry. Soon you’ll be gone, and you won’t have to see anything.

Aseye lay there in the darkness of her head, shaking with terror while her body fled the market. – p.125

Aseye is not like her leaders. She sees no reason to follow rules that don’t make sense and struggles with the burden. Even before she understands what is happening, she senses the wrongness of it. In a dream, her subconscious dares to ask the questions no one else did:

And Aseye asked the hunter goddess what had happened and why she had willed it, and the goddess said, “I willed nothing. No one asked me. Did anyone ask you?” – p.56

When she expresses her reservations, her guardian Fafa, who was party to the rituals that trapped the spirit inside her, explains why doubt is not an option for him. It’s the sunken cost fallacy — he’s in too deep. If he doubts this one thing, the whole house crumbles:

Aseye pressed her hand to her chest, half expecting to feel more than one heartbeat. “I know the thing inside me, Uncle. I’ve felt her, I’ve heard her. She’s fierce and mighty and stronger than anything I’ve ever known, but she doesn’t care about the gods. I don’t believe she came from Avlega.”

“You have to believe it.” His tone was firm.

“But—”

Fafa shook his head to silence her. “You have to. Otherwise, what is there? If she’s not from the goddess, where is she from?” He looked down at her, his eyes haunted. “If she’s not made by the will of the gods, for the good of the clan, then what have we done? To you, to all those who came before you? If we’re wrong, Aseye, then we are all damned.” – p236

And yet collapse is inevitable as it becomes clear that the gods did not will any of this — but did nothing to stop it, either. They have an agenda of their own. Whether Mamiga, Fafa and their predecessors are monsters is for readers to decide. In every other respect they are decent human beings, yet once they believe that the gods require a sacrifice, they close their eyes and offer it.

It’s no coincidence that this self-proclaimed righteous clan has strange ideas about bodily autonomy, considering their queen and the offspring that spontaneously emerge from her womb. She and her daughters are not human, but they’re bound by human expectations. Their bodies belong to the clan. Queen bees inspired me to create Anyi’s queen. Yet, though her people revere her, she isn’t in charge. She has no agency, no needs of her own; she’s a sac of biological processes, a red-piller’s dream. The ultimate maternal myth.

Women’s bodies are both cradle and battleground, and nowhere is this clearer than in religion. Our bodies straddle the line between life and death; they nurture and comfort, but also suffocate and stifle. Aseye rails against this, disgusted by the traditions of her people. She and her colleague discuss the creation myth which outlines the origins of the Anyi queen:

“But Ase, why don’t you honor this book? It’s the story of your own people.”

Aseye scoffed. “It’s a story about a woman who was too afraid to stand up and receive a gift that was rightfully hers. And then she died and started a horrible tradition of women sacrificing their bodies to the clan. What sort of history is that?” – p.43

In his book Interbeing, the late Buddhist Zen master Thich Nhat Hanh says: “Clinging fanatically to an ideology or doctrine not only prevents us from learning new ways of seeing things, but also creates bloody conflicts.” Blood and Fury is about just such a bloody conflict, and the consequences of human error over multiple lifetimes.

I believe in karma, but not in the instant gratification, pop culture sense. I believe that even if we do not reap what we sow, someone will, somewhere down the line. There is always a reckoning, life trying to course correct. Throughout the story, I had these questions in mind:

1. What makes people believe that they are good? Is it how well they follow the rules? What if the rules are unclear, or unjust? What if the gods are tricksy?
2. Does a genuine belief that they are doing the right thing absolve people from awful actions? Does it depend on the nature of the actions?
3. Is autonomy possible in a world where powerful beings shape events, affecting human affairs for centuries to come?
4. Is the greater good determined by what we’re willing to sacrifice for each other, or the unwilling sacrifices we demand?
5. What if everyone is wrong about everything?
6. What would a massive, instant reckoning look like, as opposed to things gradually course-correcting over time?

I think we all have a warrior spirit locked inside, waiting to be woken. We wage an internal battle for our minds, our attention. Our principles. We have “gods” of one type or another, voices that guide us well or lead us astray.

I think we cling to ideas that give us a sense or order and structure, because life is unpredictable and often scary, and the sheer terror of free falling with no soft mattress to land on is more than we can bear. I think that’s okay, as long as our chosen mattress does no harm. The moment it requires us to hurt or oppress others, we should throw it out.

Maybe we’re mostly good people, trying our best despite our enormous propensity for error. Or maybe we’re mostly wicked, with occasional glimmers of good. I choose to believe the former. Sometimes, that belief gets me in trouble.

There are two more books to come, and my hope is that they inspire questions, rather than provide answers. I don’t want to give anything away, but I will say this — there is a reckoning across the trilogy. Sacrifices will be made, and it will be a wild ride. But ultimately, life in the Countless Clans will course correct.