Watchers of the Dawn (A Steampunk Adventure)

By Stephen Schrum

In March of 1885 Aemelja Umber travels to New Mexico in her airship; there she expects to find the First Vampyre, who has created a legion of followers, some of whom killed her parents and destroyed her hometown. To her surprise, she instead finds Stephano Alchimi, a Renaissance alchemist made immortal when he discovered the Philosopher’s Stone. In the intervening centuries, he has discovered the ultimate source of evil in the world—negative vibrations from another plane entering the Earth through a rift at the planet’s core. He and his companions, who make up the Vigilum Aurorae (the Watchers of the Dawn), endeavor to create a Homunculus that will channel the energies needed to seal the rift. To do so, they travel to retrieve a series of artifacts, and in so doing reveal much about their world and themselves.

Schrum says, “I’m very proud of several aspects of this novel. One is that, in spite of their base’s location in the Old West, there are no rampant shoot-outs with firearms; the group uses other devices (only some steam-powered) and their wits when battling with their enemies. Another is the incorporation of historical personages and real locations; Steampunk allows us to write alternate histories, and Watchers of the Dawn takes full advantage of this feature. Finally, there is a real sense of co-operation among religions—members of various belief systems work together for the good of the Earth’s population.”

While the novel assumes some of the obvious trappings of the Steampunk universe, it possesses some intriguing original material. For example, the story of how the First Vampyre came to be cursed has not been seen before—and how it involves the Crucifixion and a dark perversion of the blood of Christ may be surprising.

This novel version also serves as the background “manual,” a reference work to be used to convert the text into a graphic novel format (forthcoming). And, while the novel is quite detailed, it leaves the world open for further interpretation and creation. Those interested in adding to the world with their own stories (fan fiction?) will find a wealth of opportunity in many time periods.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Stephen Schrum
• Release date: Jan 1, 2015
• ISBN: 9781310321948

Stephen Schrum

Stephen A. Schrum, PhD, is a theatre director, performance poet, playwright, novelist, graphic novelist, virtual worlds theatre director, and Steampunk maker. Notable past RL (real life) productions include: Shakespeare’s Twelfth Night (set in 1995) and Macbeth (performed in a cyberpunk style); Moliere’s The Miser (done in period costume) and The Misanthrope (set in the era of Disco); Sarah Kane’s 4:48 Psychosis (utilizing both the Japanese dance-drama form Butoh and hallucinatory soundscapes that Schrum created). With the research area of “The Perception of Presence in Virtual Performance,” he has directed virtual productions of The Bacchae and Prometheus Bound in Second Life (SL). He began teaching with technology in 1993, and since then has been writing and presenting on the topic, including editing the book, Theatre in Cyberspace: Issues of Teaching, Acting and Directing (2000). More recently he has turned his attention to Transhumanism, with a side-detour into Steampunk. Stephen is also interested digital filmmaking; check out his work on his youtube channel.

Book preview

It finally happened in the summer of 2013. I was at that awkward age, between the speed limit and the number of varieties of ketchup. It was then that I had The Idea.

I've been writing for years...poems, short stories, and one-act plays. I always wanted to write a longer piece, but I never had an idea that lent itself to a longer narrative. Even my full length musical, Dog Assassin, began as a one-hour play, with songs and music added later.

And then it hit me.

It began with these two characters: an Alchemist who had found the Philosopher’s Stone, and was thus immortal, and a young female Vampire Hunter whose search for the First Vampyre leads her to the Alchemist. And I saw the world in which they lived, the Steampunk world of 1885, fully illustrated as a graphic novel.

As I began to develop the other characters and the tale that dealt with the nature of good and the source of evil, I realized that the story was too big, too grand for me to formulate all of the details alone. And so I began to assemble a group of collaborators who could help me flesh out the story.

As we met, and as the story continued to evolve, at times incorporating actual historical personages, we also began creating more material that, in a fairly well-trod and often derivative environment, had not been done before. For example, the story of how the First Vampyre came to be cursed is, I think, starkly original—and how it involves the Crucifixion and a dark perversion of the blood of Christ may surprise you.

Through our meetings we detailed the story from beginning to end, and at the same time endeavored to create a world rich enough for further expansion through role-playing games, computer games, and films. During two NaNoWriMos (National Novel Writing Months), I also wrote the novel version, as the background manual, a reference work for the visual artist and illustrator we later added to convert the text into the graphic novel format.

While the novel is quite detailed, I have also sought to leave the world open for further interpretation and creation. Those interested in adding to the world with their own stories (fan fiction?) will find a wealth of opportunity in many time periods. What did Stephano encounter in the Holy Lands? How did Aemelja obtain her airship? What happened to Helena, Hanna, Hephaestus, and Johnny en route to meeting up with Stephano? These questions and many more offer themselves as starting points for those interested in adding to the world we have begun here.

The graphic novel is still in process (to be completed in early 2015, with the podcast also in process), but I wanted to release the novel version to the world. This work is the culmination of a lifetime's reading, research, and thought, and I hope you enjoy reading it, and find Watchers of the Dawn (A Steampunk Adventure) as intriguing and fascinating as I found to concoct it.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

The idea of Watchers of the Dawn (A Steampunk Adventure) became fully realized through the help of the following:

Story Contributors: Stevie Bonine, Meg Hughes, Nate LaSor, John Ritchey, Tessa Sarver, Emily Ann Stark

Conceptual Art: Jake Steele

Graphic Novel Illustration: Lauren Fisher

A work such as this owes much to those it touches even before it is released to the world, and so the creators would like to thank the following for their advice, help, and good vibrations:

Jen Abernathy for reading some early drafts and commenting;

Dianna Bourke, my wife, for putting up with the novel-writing process;

Najeeb Sherzai, for input on Muslim culture;

William Rued, PhD, for a discussion on the nature of good and evil (that had nothing to do with my annual evaluation).

Watchers of the Dawn

(A Steampunk Adventure)

By Stephen A. Schrum

Prologue

(A hooded figure stands, holding a large tome. He speaks to his unseen audience.)

The Book of the World. In the Library of the Cosmos there are many Books. And each Book contains a World. And this Book (opens it) is the Book of Our World…or one possibility, one version of it. It is written in the language of every reader. A universal language, an illustrated text, a vast illuminated manuscript that contains the entire history of our world from beginning to end. Well, end…heh… People speak of World’s End…that’s ridiculous. You just go back to the beginning again! Everything is arranged chronologically and historically. It appears linear, but you can jump at any time to another time and place, simply by turning a page, and put yourself, quite literally, into that time and place. Images rise up, and when you concentrate, you are there! For example—[notices something] What…? Oh, no…a wormhole! Some insect has eaten its way through. Now things can spill from one time to the next…. (Sighs) This could be trouble…

(The figure is sucked away into the darkness.)

VOLUME ONE

Chapter 1: Arrival

The bronze, wood, and fabric six-passenger airship sped through the night air above New Mexico. Where the approach had been one of great stealth on this moonless night, this was clearly no longer the case. The lone pilot, a young woman, struggled with the controls. As the ship approached her target—a small town in the Valle Misterioso—bolts of lightning began streaking upward at the craft, following their trajectory with thunderclaps. But they seemed too regular, in size, shape and pacing, to be natural. Perhaps her intended target knew of her approach, and was taking defensive measures.

She glanced down at her single passenger. On the floor of the craft lay a youngish man, dressed in a soldier’s uniform, unconscious and in a fetal position, shivering despite the blanket wrapped tightly around him. She again noticed that the two puncture wounds on his neck were still seeping blood, and she spoke to him in a reassuring tone.

Hold on. We are very close. Soon we will put an end to this curse.

Her passenger remained silent; his soundless shivering continued.

Our determined pilot held tightly to the maritime wheel, guiding her craft through the violent but rainless storm, steering a path between the lightning.

Peering down, she looked for a place to land safely. There was rock and desert in all directions for miles, but suddenly a circle of evergreen trees appeared, sheltering a small town in a valley. The one break in the trees to the south presented an obvious landing place, an entrance to the town.

But perhaps the entrance was too obvious, a lure for the unsuspecting traveler. She had been wary for a long time, and always suspected potential danger through every inviting door.

One very close bolt of lightning and a clap of thunder louder than the rest roused her passenger. Almost coming to consciousness, and once again perceiving pain, he moaned. The pilot glanced at him, twitching the steering wheel, and one propeller of the airship collided with the next bolt of lightning, damaging the ship. It began to descend—slowly, but on a definite path down.

For a time, she managed to control the descent, a slowly decreasing spiral that brought her right to the opening in the trees. At the last, a wind gust came from an unexpected direction, and the airship crashed to the ground, almost throwing the pilot and the passenger to the desert floor.

The pilot, uninjured, crawled over to her passenger, now bereft of the blanket, no longer in a fetal position. He lay facedown on the wooden deck. She turned him over, and checked for breathing. There was none any longer.

Looking around, she quickly located her traveling valise, secured with large leather straps. She retrieved it, and opened it hurriedly, pulling a hammer and stake from their smaller straps inside. She positioned the point of the stake on his chest, and readied the hammer.

I am sorry, old friend, she said before she drove the stake into his heart. For a second his eyes opened in fury, and then a calmness replaced his anger as the blood drained from his body, spreading under his back. His eyes closed again, and he seemed to be merely asleep, and at peace.

Sleep well, she said, as she replaced the blanket, this time covering his face. She will have to bury him—but not now. For now she must leave him, as a more pressing matter awaited her.

She entered the cabin of the airship, and located her weapon of choice: a crossbow, fitted with small wooden stakes ending in silver tips. She loaded one on to the weapon, and readied several others, in case they would be needed. She suspected the Master of the Vampyres to be here, and that meant there would be others.

She slipped over the side of the airship. It was pitch dark outside the ring of trees. She pressed a button under the brim of her bowler hat, and a greenish rectangular lens popped down to cover her eyes. One of the many inventions found in her travels, this glass, infused with chemicals taken from bioluminescent fish, allowed her to see in the dark. Adjusting her corset, as if positioning an armored breastplate for battle, and raising the crossbow in an offensive stance, she slowly passed the opening in the ring of trees, and entered the town beyond.

Chapter 2: Valle Misterioso

The area was named Valle Misterioso by early Spanish explorers looking for areas to colonize. They spent little time in the Valley; journals by visitors cited a demonic presence felt by everyone who spent more than a few hours there. Perhaps the foreboding-looking wall of adobe cliff dwellings, apparently long-abandoned and staring mutely onto the circlet of trees, appeared haunted to those visitors. They moved on further West, searching for calmer, more welcoming, locations.

Later visitors, greedily searching for mineral wealth, managed to shrug off any claims of supernatural presences. They were more interested in the claims they could make to remove the valley’s rich deposits of gold, silver, zinc, lead and copper, among other items of interest, such as quartz and marble. Engineers opened a mine entrance, a sort of sub-basement to the imposing pueblo dwellings standing to the north of the ring of Colorado Blue Spruce trees that grew in such an unusual way, outlining the circular edge of the valley.

While the mine itself yielded many riches for a time, many of those working underground chose to live outside of the ring of trees. Perhaps they too felt the strangeness of the area. As a result, only a few buildings were constructed within the surrounding trees. These buildings remained standing even today.

Though the ground was still full of minerals, those seeking wealth began gradually to move away. Maybe they became spooked by the same demonic presences the Spaniards had reported. A mass exodus of miners seems to have occurred just after the time enough rock and mineral wealth had been excavated to reveal a cavern with ancient paintings on the walls. Once these were visible, accidents began happening, along with minor earthquakes, rockslides, and tunnel collapses. The miners determined it was no longer safe, and abandoned the mine and the town above.

The town lay quiet and empty for some time. Then a small band of newcomers arrived, repairing and inhabiting the buildings, and even re-opening the mine entrance. During the next few years, they worked tirelessly to bring order to the ramshackle ruin the town had become; then a few others arrived to assist in the effort. And they worked in isolation because, other than these visitors, no one else ever came near. It seemed as if there was a shield over the area that few could penetrate.

That is, not until Aemelja Umbra arrived in her airship, in March of 1885, with her dying passenger.

Chapter 3: The Town

Aemelja crept cautiously to the end of the trees, and scrutinized the town, crossbow at the ready. Her bioluminescent lens magnified ambient light from her surroundings, allowing her to see the buildings before her. There appeared to be four. Closest to her on the left was a small building with a sign proclaiming Apothecary, and outside the front door stood the familiar blue-and-red-striped pole for barbers and surgeons—apparently this was indeed the medical building. Behind it, judging from its rougher construction and smokestack, was the Blacksmith shop, and even now in the dark and off hours, a dull glow emanated from its center. Across from it, cattycorner from the Apothecary, was a Chapel. The gothic arched windows, small steeple, and cross all identified it as such. Aemelja wondered for a moment about that last adornment; what was a cross doing on a building in a town infested by vampyres? She shook off the thought, content to worry about that later, rather than now.

The fourth building, the one on her right, also had a sign: Saloon. It was also the only building with lights on inside (with the exception of the smoldering forge in the Blacksmith’s shop). For now, she kept her distance from it, and sneaked behind the apothecary, to examine the rest of the town. Between the Blacksmith’s and the Apothecary was a round fire pit, likely for cooking animals, judging by the charred markings. Between the chapel and saloon stood a small outhouse, with the traditional crescent moon cut into the door. Two other structures flanked the Apothecary and the Saloon: a water tower and a windmill, respectively.

Aemelja used the windmill’s base as cover and cautiously approached the side of the Saloon, finding one of the windows slightly open. Crouching down, she listened intently before venturing a peek into the window. She heard a few noises, glasses being placed down onto tables, the washing of dishes...a dusty cough…and then a voice, a man’s voice, with the slight touch of a Southern dialect.

We know you're out there, young missy. You might as well come into the light.

She knew she had not made a sound, that her stealth was excellent. How had they known she was here?

The same voice called again: Come on. Don’t be shy.

Aemelja rose from her crouch, not lowering her crossbow, and walked around to the front door. The typical swinging doors of a saloon were there, but full length, from the top of the doorway to the bottom. To keep out dust? Prying eyes? Aemelja pushed on the left hand door with her shoulder and let it slowly swing in before her, crossbow still at the ready.

Once fully inside, the door swung shut beside her with a mute, almost machine-like hiss. She glanced around. Behind the bar stood a tall, lanky man, dressed in blue jeans and a white shirt, washing dishes in a sink, the handle of a pump visible to the side. There must be another, underground, source of water, other than the water tower—she hadn't seen any pipes leading here. She turned her slow, careful gaze to the rest of the room. Several tables with chairs were arrayed around the open space. It looked like any other saloon she had ever visited: open drinking and dining area; stairway to a second story landing and balcony; rooms above for visitors.

At three of the tables sat three other people. As she always did in strange situations, Aemelja quickly appraised them for the possibility of danger. One, a large bronzed man, wearing brown leather pants, a rough-spun and worn cream shirt, sat with a half-empty mug of beer in front of him. Under the shirt, and barely contained by his suspenders, breathed a broad muscular chest. His large forearms and larger biceps, and a huge handlebar mustache, painted the familiar picture of a Blacksmith. He sat, smiling at her in a seemingly sincere, friendly, and welcoming way. Nearby sat a woman, in a charcoal grey skirt and jacket, the latter tightly buttoned to barely hint at the white frilled blouse beneath. Short boots capped the outfit, and voluminous hair arranged in a bouffant style set her apart from the others. The small glasses perched on her nose suggested an academic air, and though Aemelja had traveled the world, she felt surprise at the thought of her being the town doctor—for even in this modern era, she had met few female physicians. The woman seemed to be studying Aemelja, perhaps making a rapid diagnosis. Aemelja turned to see the third person in the room, a black woman, smiling like the Blacksmith, but with a twinkle of recognition in her eyes. Aemelja suddenly noticed her clerical collar seemingly floating above her light tan blouse and dark brown skirt. Hello, Aemelja, said the woman.

How do you know my name?

He has been expecting you, said the bespectacled one, with a slight, barely discernible German accent.

’He?’ Your master?

All four laughed gently, as if this were a witty joke made during a dinner table conversation. We are hardly his slaves. Not even me, said the black woman, who raised an eyebrow, awaiting Aemelja’s response. She responded by taking another step into the room and lowering her crossbow—only slightly.

So you know why I am here? And who I am looking for?

We know. And he knows. He’s been expecting you, said the Bartender.

How— began Aemelja, but the woman with the collar, clearly a cleric in her tone, cut her off; speaking in a feigned mystical tone, with a deliberately clumsy conjuring gesture, she intoned, He knows all and sees all!

The Doctor glanced at the cleric over her glasses and then looked back at Aemelja. At least that’s what we tell his visitors.

Does he get many visitors out here?

The Blacksmith said, No. They usually don’t get past us, if they make it this far.

I see.

The Bartender dried his hands on a towel. But you needn’t worry, young missy. He said we should let you right through. Well, down.

Down?

The Blacksmith cocked his head northward. Into the mine. I am to take you to him.

I will not go quietly. And I will not put down my weapon.

Shrugging, the Blacksmith said, No need. You won’t use it. As we said, he’s expecting you. But not to kill him. When he saw her puzzled look, he tried to reassure her. It will all make sense very soon.

He rose from the table, and pushed the chair in. Stepping toward her, he raised his hands and forearms, to show he had no weapon. Please, follow me. Walking around her, without breaking his stride, he crossed to the door, stepped through and held it for her. She backed up toward it, and then turned to face him. She used her foot to hold it open for herself as he stepped away and started to walk toward the mine opening. With a kick, she opened the door wide, stepped through, and followed him at a safe distance.

They walked in silence toward the mineshaft. I know you are not very trusting, but I hope you soon will be. He was looking for you, to help us in our work.

I will not join you.

Never say never! You may want to wait until you learn everything about us before you decide that. He pushed open the swinging gate to the mine. Again, you are looked for. He knew you were coming. When you see your role in all this, you may very likely join us.

Rather than repeat herself she remained silent, as they stepped onto the wooden elevator car. The rope and pulleys all looked new; she didn’t feel afraid as the car began its smooth descent. She noticed that it didn’t lurch as so many of these new inventions did, and she had been in some of the taller buildings in cities on the East Coast. Often, she had noticed an almost imperceptible strange feeling that seemed to be emanating from the buildings themselves, rather than from these vertical conveyances, which made those rides even more worrisome.

Chapter 4: The Cavern

The elevator descended smoothly and slowly for a while, in a shaft no wider than the elevator itself. Then, suddenly, unexpectedly, the shaft ended and she found herself gliding down toward the floor of a cavernous room. She could see everywhere, as large globes of a silvery cold light lit the vast emptiness. But it was not empty; everywhere she looked she saw something to confuse her senses. Lines of minerals ran through the rock walls, snaking between strange cave paintings, the likes of which she had never seen before. Below her was a strange structure mounted over a black—and what appeared to be a bottomless—pit. She had never seen anything quite like the pyramidal structure, and so could make no determination about its function.

She looked elsewhere, to find familiar objects to ground her senses. To one side, she saw an underground stream running through the cavern; pipes running from the stream up into the ceiling suggested that this was the source of water for the town. On the other side, she saw a series of tables and workbenches, with all sorts of metal and glass contraptions, in what appeared to be a variety of states of construction or destruction. These cluttered surfaces sat in front of huge bookshelves filled with dozens of seemingly antiquated volumes. On the opposite side, she saw an odd greenish glow. There appeared to be…some sort of large head hovering above a box. The eyes were closed, but as she approached the main floor, the eyes fluttered open, and the face seemed to smile. She stared back.

He’s right over there, Miss, said the Blacksmith, pointing to an area by the tables. He’s waiting for you. Or as he always says, ‘When the pupil is ready, the Master will appear.’ She glanced to the workbenches and suddenly realized there was a figure there, bent over some device, tinkering away. When the elevator finally touched down with a gentle bump, the man put his tools down and turned to her.

His clothes were contemporary, with his sleeves pushed up for his work. As for the rest of his appearance it was as she expected. He was tall, and pale, with a strange mottled coloration to his face. He certainly looked the part of the Vampyre. Was this the man she had been hunting?

She stepped off the elevator, crossbow still at the ready. Behind her the Blacksmith pushed a button, and began to rise out of sight. She was now alone with this man who might very well be the one she had been seeking for so long.

Aemelja: welcome! He took a step toward her and held out his hands, to show he was not armed. She used this opportunity to take aim; she aimed the crossbow shaft directly at his heart. And she was very experienced at this; after her military training with the soldiers who had rescued her—in her dozen years as a Hunter of Vampyres, she rarely missed her target.

She held her breath, to survey him up and down, looking for signs of identity. He wore what appeared to be black denim pants; a white shirt, fronted by an embroidered cream vest, topped the trousers. No jacket—that hung on the back of a nearby chair.

He stood patiently for a moment, then broke the silence. The weapon is unnecessary. I am not the one whom you seek.

And who is it you think I am seeking?

You quest to find and destroy the First of the Vampyres, the one who created all those who came after him, along with those who destroyed your village.

She froze in place, feeling a cold chill run up and down her spine. And if you are not him, how do you know my quest?

At this, he smiled. I know many things, and much of it I will soon share with you, when you join us.

Why would I join you?

Because your quest, though noble, must wait. A more important quest is upon us, and your participation is vital.

And who are you? How do I know you are not he, who is as much a purveyor of lies as Lucifer?

You are seeking a vampyre. If I were a vampyre, would I not react in fear at the sight of a cross? Aemelja nodded slowly, recalling the cross on the chapel. "Would