Friday Fiction: Puppets

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

Incessant. The dripping. It’s… incessant. Oil. Or perhaps blood. I can’t tell from so far but it’s far too thick to be water. And far too dark. Everything is dark. Except – I can see. I can see in the dark; luminous emerald visions. I can see everything. I can see…

Them.

They cannot see me. Ghastly elongated figures. Human. Monster.

Sulfurous redolence encompasses them and wafts into my nostrils. Beings erratically twitch about on legs half bent, and arms twisted into irregular angles like broken tree branches. A gorge yawns where mouths should be. Alabaster barbs for teeth.

Them.

A whisper drifts to my ear.

“Puppets.”

A scream catches in my throat. I whirl about towards the voice; a mirror image.

“That’s what they all are. Puppets.” the living reflection breathes.

He takes a step forward. I shuffle back against a contorted leg and fall. My hands graze the ragged, cold floor, slick with the same thick liquid dripping in the distance. I scramble away from the hissing creature as it lunges for me. Then away from the advancing man who shoves the creature aside with casual grace; it hisses at him but he is unperturbed as he stalks closer. The replica. Me.

“Careful. Don’t get too close again.” He warns casually. I bump into another of the creatures. Its stench washes over me and I gag at its split feet; gnarled leathery claws. The creature swipes at my head with root like fingers. I watch. Fascinated. Horrified. Awed.

Pain splits across my face.

Emerald vision doubles, spilling flamed streaks. A cry escapes me and fills the void.

Blurred limbs languidly twist towards me collectively. They lurch towards the sound. Towards me. Floundering mutant abnormalities; what are they? What are they!?

Schick…

Schick…

Schick…

They drag towards me.

Schick…

Schick…

Schick…

Closer.

I steal glances towards the man bearing my face and the limbering monsters. I see him/me watch with intrigue.

“Stop!” he suddenly shouts.

The creatures halt in mid stride. A hiss escapes their agonized mouths in coiling ropes, distinctly crimson even in my green-amber-hued vision.

The man steadily marches towards me, almost robotic in his irregular gait. He kneels before me.

“The problem with puppets” his fetid breath explains “is their lack of humanity. But you…” crooked fingers caress my face, the sound like two pages rubbing, the sensation like wet used sandpaper, still rough yet sickeningly smooth. And damp.

“You are my perfection. A gift from the aether. Mechanical as you are mortal. Soon you shall be complete and my soul shall replace the void that inhibits you.” The fingers graze my neck, slip around and rest on a bone on my spine. A toothless smile grows on the scaly lips.

“Rest well my Pinocchio. You’re gonna be a real boy.”

Advertisement

Monday Book Recommendation: Nyssa Glass and the House of Mirrors

Nyssa Glass is a reformed cat burglar turned electrician’s apprentice, settled into a life repairing videophones and radio-sets. However, when her past comes calling, she finds herself forced into one last job. No one has entered Professor Dalhart’s secluded mansion in almost a decade, at least not and returned to tell the tale. If Nyssa wants to ensure her freedom, she’ll brave the booby trapped halls and mechanized maids. Nyssa has skills, but this house has more than its share of secrets. As she steps into the cobwebbed halls lined with dusty mirrors, she has to wonder. Is the House of Mirrors really abandoned?

 

---

I heard of the Nyssa Glass series from another steampunk blog I follow: Magic and Iron and once I read the premise, I was definitely interested. Are there any steampunk books you have read and loved? Please recommend them in the comments below. Thanks!

Monday Book Recommendation: Iron and Blood

A Steampunk novel set in the fictional city of New Pittsburgh.

New Pittsburgh in 1898, a crucible of invention and intrigue, the hub of American industry at the height of its steam-driven power. Born from the ashes of devastating fire, flood and earthquake, New Pittsburgh is ruled by the shadow government of The Oligarchy. In the abandoned mine tunnels beneath the city, supernatural creatures hide from the light, emerging to feed in the smoky city known as ‘hell with the lid off.’

Jake Desmet and Rick Brand, heirs to the Brand & Desmet Import Company, travel the world to secure treasures and unusual items for the collections of wealthy patrons, accompanied by Jake’s cousin, Veronique ‘Nikki’ LeClerque. Smuggling a small package as a favor for a Polish witch should have been easy. But when hired killers come after Jake and a Ripper-style killer leaves the city awash in blood, Jake, Rick and Nikki realize that dark magic, vampire power struggles and industrial sabotage are just a prelude to a bigger plot that threatens New Pittsburgh and the world. Stopping that plot will require every ounce of Jake’s courage, every bit of Rick’s cunning, every scintilla of Nikki’s bravura and all the steampowered innovation imaginable.

---

Gail Z. Martin has a long list of fantasy stories out already and this is a collaboration with her husband, right along my current alley. She’s my most anticipated author on Read Them First, a collection of upcoming books compiled by myself, Jen from Combustible Reviews and Vicky from Books and Strips.

Mind of the Trade

Monday morning I’m stuck deep within the confines of On Writing Well by William Zinsser, finding my thought process winding into non-fiction gear as I prepare for work. My mind suffers from professional-author-talk syndrome and my writing follows suit. Therefore’s and however’s creep into my speech. Professionalism at its finest.

Monday afternoon I’m reading Moxyland by Lauren Beukes, an African dystopian novel chockful of colloquialism and slang, written as the language is spoken, with a myriad of colourful characters each unique in their speech. I’ve switched to calling people “babes” or “chief”, embracing the local lingo like I’m still traversing Bree Street, and hoping to fit into my “culture”.

Monday evening The Mammoth Book of Steampunk Adventures has reduced me to a 19th century philosopher, admonishing my nephew on his incorrect use of the Queen’s language while envisioning a world free of technological advancements as we experience them. And an occasional dabble in alchemy.

It fascinates (and sometimes frightens) me how easily my mind can shift between influences and so quickly too. How pliable is my mind? How much of it is mine and how much of it is Stephen King or Warren Hately or H.G. Wells. Is the Nthato speaking to you now J.F. Penn or Ernest Cline?  Is it an amalgamation of them all? Nthato Barker-Lovecraft-Morgensten-C.Clarke-Pratchett Morakabi?

If you want to be a writer, you must do two things above all others: read a lot and write a lot. ~ Stephen King

Having a pool of inspirational sources is part of having a mind for the trade. It makes my days cramming the inspirational relevance of Rococo, Pop Art, Renaissance, Expressionism, Realism etc during my History of Art lessons make so much sense. Through understanding others in the craft and their influence, I grow in the craft. Does it matter that I become pseudo-Shakespeare after reading Othello? Perhaps if you happen to be around me, but this pliable mind absorbing the different styles and techniques of various authors is what will help sharpen my writing. Inspiration is synonymous with influence after all. The Oxford Thesaurus said so.

Malady

Young master Stephen Atherton is undoubtedly the fiend known as blackhand. I fear it is by my own doing that he suffers so, however I too suffer his curse. I have sought to gain entry into his mind and have become a fiend myself, nevertheless it is a necessity for survival. He has yet to reach his thirteenth year and already he is able to keep me at bay. Such strength! I must secure it for myself lest I be lost within this ethereal prison within him.

Oh the foolishness of man, attempting to attain the power of God through the science of man. Attempting to achieve the Magnum Opus, the recreation of the long sought elixir of life, Adam’s God given jewel –  the philosophers stone. Yet despite human failings we accomplished this magnificent feat at the cost of our souls, now encased within the lad’s chest and the embedded vermilion gem. My soulless body hoped to regain a semblance of itself in the boy, only for the alchemic residue bonding body to soul to stone, transformed anatomy to impalpable membrane. ‘Tis how I was bound to the boy, my body fettered to the entirety of his hand and arm, and how he attained the varmint title; blackhand.

Oh this sublime insubstantial existence. How long shall I endure? How long before he slips so I may ascertain myself in his consciousness. Shall I wait for his innocence to pass? Perhaps I ought to devour this purity for my own? What am I becoming? What shall I become? Oh Lord deliver me from this bondage, from this juvenile subjugation – I fear the day I truly become… a malady.

---

Time to Write: Memories

The past haunts us all. The future holds consequences for something we did in our past.

If you’re not aware, I’m working on a Steampunk horror novel set in the 1800s and I’m struggling with the language. My best friends Dictionary and Thesaurus have been helping me try capture the language and I think I’ve done well. This is not part of the novel but a recollection of the past that I don’t focus on in the novel itself.

What are your thoughts?

Monday Book Recommendation: Lady Mechanika

Keeping with the steampunk theme, I bring to you Lady Mechanika!

Lady Mechanika is a creator-owned comic book series by Joe Benitez, inspired by the steampunk genre. “Steampunk” is all about re-imagining history, usually combining the elegance of the Victorian Era with more advanced science fiction technology.
The tabloids dubbed her “Lady Mechanika“, the sole survivor of a mad scientist’s horrific experiments which left her with mechanical limbs. Having no memory of her captivity or her former life, Mechanika eventually built a new life for herself as a private detective, using her unique abilities to solve cases the police couldn’t or wouldn’t handle. But she never stopped searching for the answers to her own past.
Set in turn of the century England, a time when magic and superstition clashed with new scientific discoveries and inventions, Lady Mechanika is about a young woman’s search for her own identity as she solves other mysteries involving science and the supernatural.

---

I know it’s not strictly a book but it does have book in it right? Comic book. Any steampunk fans out there?

Friday Fiction: Drommedaris

Image courtesy of: http://www.flickriver.com

Their history was wrong.

Their stories embellished.

Their paintings falsified.

We stood atop our mountain, one we had christened Dragon’s Back, for the craggy mountain that stretched into the sea. They called it the Cape of Good Hope.

“Baba.” The young boy spoke.

“Yes son.”

“Those ships are coming closer. It is as the great bronze Kudu foretold.”

“Yes.” He turned towards the boy; his greying brows furrowed. “Prepare the people.”

“Yes baba.”

***

The bronze Kudu stood against the cavern entrance gleaming in the morning sun. Stone gears spun gradually below the structure, pushing the great god back into its sanctuary. The boy gained the attention of the villagers with a sharp tap of his golden scepter on the cold mountain floor; the ruby gem at the tip shone against their eyes.

“As the great Kudu  foretold,” the boy began. Although young, his voice carried across the congregation, “our visitors will arrive within the setting of two suns upon this great land.” The murmurs were soft. They had all seen the large ships drifting towards them from afar.

“Great prince, are we to hide?”A voice asked. The boy cast cold eyes at the speaker.

“We are not hiding, merely keeping our technology hidden. We do not know who they are or what they want, but we have foreseen the destruction our weapons will weave across our sacred land in their hands.”

“And what destruction will they weave with their weapons?” Another asked.

“Plenty still.” the boy’s eyes softened. He placed a closed fist over his heart. The horns of the kudu were etched on the bronze plate that fell over his shoulders and draped to his chest.

“I fear for you. The bronze and gold monstrosities they will build from our primitive work will be…” he sighed. The people could see the fear blaze in the young prince’s eyes; they felt a stirring of that fear themselves.

“We cannot bestow our secrets and knowledge to them. I beg of you.” his eyes swept over his people. Barely past thirteen summers he hoped to never become the king the Shaman foresaw. He pulled his chest plate over his head and held it in his hands. He was now like the rest of his people. When they saw this, they fell to their knees and let their bronze mechanisms fall from their arms and legs. It was the end of an era.

***

The dark waters swept the reflected stars back and forth across its glistening surface. A distorted mirror reflecting distorted hearts. Hidden from sight under a reflective boat, traitors glided from the approaching ships towards the coast. Towards what they had already started calling the Cape of Good Hope.

***

On 24 December 1651, accompanied by his wife and son, Jan van Riebeeck set off from Texel in The Netherlands for the Cape of Good Hope. Van Riebeeck had signed a contract with the Dutch East India Company (VOC) to oversee the setting up of a refreshment station to supply Dutch ships on their way to the East. Sailing on the Dromedaris with two other ships, the Rejiger and De Goede Hoop, Van Riebeeck was accompanied by 82 men and 8 women.

http://www.sahistory.org.za/topic/arrival-jan-van-riebeeck-cape-6-april-1652

---

Hope you enjoyed my little tale. Can you guess what’s going to happen next?

Monday Book Recommendation: Leviathan series

It is the cusp of World War I. The Austro-Hungarians and Germans have their Clankers, steam-driven iron machines loaded with guns and ammunition. The British Darwinists employ genetically fabricated animals as their weaponry. Their Leviathan is a whale airship, and the most masterful beast in the British fleet.

Aleksandar Ferdinand, a Clanker, and Deryn Sharp, a Darwinist, are on opposite sides of the war. But their paths cross in the most unexpected way, taking them both aboard the Leviathan on a fantastical, around-the-world adventure….One that will change both their lives forever.

---

I have never heard of this series before, but it looks interesting. The Leviathan series by Scott Westerfield.

Death of Man

Heavy and dormant
Yet whirrs with life
A cage of darkness
Of hearbreak and strife.

Once pumping. Once beating,
Life in red rivers
Now oozing. Now dripping,
Death in black slithers.

They beckon. They call.
Raised fists and claws
What is humanity?
Ask rust and bone jaws.

Steel and Steam
Machines of death
Hearts of metal.
With man’s last breath.

---

I’m building a Steampunk world over at Silva-Steam with some inspirational pictures, stories, poems and what-nots. Join me on my journey: Silva-Steam Tumblr