Ver Sacrum Book I: Prelude to a Race

By Bethalynne Bajema

In the world of Riker Rouge there is reality, the dusk-lands, the secret places, and how each slowly blends into one another. The Vitandi, a secretive group of arcane researchers, want to bring back their beloved and cursed event the Magnus Certatio: A race of such massive proportions that not only is victory and wealth promised to the participants, but the enlightenment and freedom of the soul. One arcane collector, Octavius Obediah the Second, is asked to help plan the perfect race route to help the Vitandi to their ultimate goal... something many souls failed and died for two centuries ago. What comes from that invitation is a spiraling story of eccentric characters, dark events and adventure.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bethalynne Bajema
• Release date: Apr 28, 2017

Bethalynne Bajema

Bethalynne is a Michigan native who spent much of her early life chasing the fae around her grandfather's nearly mythical fairy tale garden. Where the fae weren't calling, the strange shadows in the closet were whispering. When it was finally suggested that she kindly bring herself down from the clouds (and out from those dark places) she turned her expansive imagination towards capturing her characters and their worlds through writing and drawing. The latter has led to her having a notable career as a professional artist for the past twenty years, as well as self publishing many of the stories behind her artwork. Bethalynne's art and writing have been published in Weird Tales Magazine, Dark Beauty Magazine, Cthulhu Sex Magazine, Gothic Beauty Magazine, as well as coffee table books Gothic Art Now, Vampire Art Now, and as a writer for photographer John Santerineross' books Fruit of the Secret God and Dream. Her work is primarily fantasy based with a healthy influence of neo Victorian, horror, and dystopian themes.

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Riker Rouge

Book I - Prelude to a Race

By Bethalynne Bajema

Riker Rouge Book I, Prelude to a Race is copyright ©2016 Bethalynne Bajema. All Rights Reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without permission from the publisher, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law. For permissions contact: [e-mail]

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TABLE OF CONTENTS

Foreword

Prologue

And It Was Going So Well

Chapter I

Airships, The House of Time, & Mr Nine

Chapter II

First Sightings, The House of Obediah & The Baron's Proposition

Chapter III

Sapling Sacrifices, The Magnus Certatio & Frangipani

Chapter IV

Black Waters, The End of the Reevers & Oleander's Secret

Chapter V

Vitandi Objections, A Sleeping Dragon, & The Beginning of a Race

Parting Notes & About the Author

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Foreword

When I was a kid I enjoyed adventure shows with my big brother. The best night I can remember is when he took me to see Raiders of the Lost Ark. It was incredible, even if I had nightmares about melting Nazis for a few weeks. After I saw it I spent my evenings in the backyard making my own get-the-treasure obstacle courses. When I had to come inside for the night I would turn to using my rather large walk-in closet as my tomb of secrets. Sometimes he and I would see how far we could get in the very pixel challenged Atari game Pitfall.

With my mother it was all about races and westerns. I loved Saturday afternoons when we watched The Great Race and Around the World in 80 Days. I wanted to be Princess Aouda walking into the Reform Club after that great adventure to see Phileas Fogg win his wager. I would chatter at her about my own idea for a massive race that would take us into secret worlds and unknown places. I would draw out maps for her and, much to her worrisome questioning now and then, put a lot of detail into my race villains.

I think for me these stories helped me deal with the vast amount of travel I stared down every year to see my dad and the stress of having to get to know the new cities where he came to live. He lived several states away and getting to him meant at first many hours in the car to his home and back on the weekends. Later on it meant plane rides as an unaccompanied minor to spend the summers far away in an eastern part of the country that was so incredibly different from where I was growing up. Turning those tedious drives and somewhat intimidating plane experiences into an adventure helped me cope and even grow excited for them. My mom always prepared me for those adventures with her movies nights. My favorite is still either watching The Apple Dumpling Gang or True Grit with her before I left her for a spell. I have never shed my wanderlust or desire to see new places as a result.

Of course there are all kinds of influences that move me to write and they come from a variety of different genres. I adore the dark oppression of a good Lovecraft story that is paired with this desire to seek out the unknown regardless of what might come of it. I love alternative histories and how retro futurism can be worked into them. And from time to time I enjoy a good nighttime soap opera that is most serious television shows. The Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Firefly that turn up among the tedious hospital dramas and sitcom pulp. They all get thrown into that blender of my imagination and come out in my own voice. I dabble into that a bit of my past experiences and those things that have so greatly imprinted upon me over the years. Sometimes I get something I'm really excited about. This book would be one of those things I've been excited about writing.

Riker Rouge is in essence an episodic fiction about a very great race. It features characters that I have been writing about for a very long time. They turn up for wee cameos throughout my fictional universe. I know them very well: Their strange quirks, their obsessions, all the incredible places they've traveled to and seen. It was time to let their stories play out in their own tale and for me to finally get that great race I've been mapping out since I was a kid out of my head and onto paper.

Episodic fiction can be a turn off for some readers. When you pick up a book you tend to know you have a beginning and an ending. I like to think of them as a series that you tune into each week. You can watch every week for a new chapter or you can save up and binge. I've written Riker Rouge so that it can be read in that way. It's offered chapter by chapter on my Ver Sacrum Books website, with chapter bundles that are a specific segment of the story that has a beginning and an ending that is a pause between the next segment of the story. Think of it as a season in a television show.

Book I, Prelude to a Race introduces readers to this world of mine and its main characters. You get a peek into the aether and the dusk-lands, as well as some of the people and the sects that inhabit these places. You get to meet the great Octavius Orwell Obediah the Second, one of my most favorite of explorers and collectors of the arcane. And my new favorite villainess finally comes out from the shadows, who shall remain nameless until her proper introduction a few pages on. There's a little bit of everything I love in the first season of this story.

One thing I think important to note that this story does follow an alternative timeline and at no point do I offer a set moment in time that it takes place. There are heavy neo-Victorian themes throughout it, but I don't think it can completely be classified as a steampunk story. It does have airships and it does have old timey inventions with a more familiar modern twist, but all in all it's a work of pure fantasy that quietly weaves within it science fiction and horror. I would prefer for the reader to gently slip into the style of the world as they read and become familiar with it rather than bluntly lay out what you're looking at.

So this is where I leave you with my introductions. I promise after this no more wordy author bits. As this is the beginning of the story I just wanted to offer a little background on it and what you'll find if you decide to give it a read. Now, onto the race. -Bethalynne

PROLOGUE

And it was going so well

The circle had been drawn and all the players in this dark melodrama where on their marks. The rituals were remembered and acted out in every intimate detail. The talismans and offerings had been discovered and laid out around them. There was not one player among them who didn't stand there with complete confidence that they had done their individual part. Dark glory was at hand.

The final task to complete this puzzle had been solved and its solution was to find the leviathan that led them to this place. And now heads and hands were forced to be steady despite the terror the unseen creature put into their hearts with every agonizing and unearthly noise it made from beyond the veil.

The doorway was in motion and every pair of eyes was locked on to this singular vision, this one moment in time. No one dared speak or be heard breathing; though the booming of one unified heartbeat could faintly be heard in the background. It was like a steady drumbeat that vibrated the air around them.

So focused on the unfolding moment was this gathering of eclectic souls that not one of them took note of the brilliant gleam of light coming from behind the rock monoliths that served as the gate between their reality and the veil they wished to draw aside. Nor did they hear the buzzing sound of a massive electrical charge that seemed to be embedded in that brilliance. The moment and that light would come together with the destructive power of a volcano's eruption. This coaxed an earthquake to follow. It was a soundless explosion that touched the ground and caused it to violently shake. The brilliance of the exploding light blinded those not thoughtful enough to shield their eyes the moment they realized it was coming.

What came next was a moment of pure chaos stretched out so far that everything moved in slow motion. It was impossible to decipher that strange event because there were no markers of reality to hold on to within it. The rational human mind could not comprehend what it was seeing or experiencing. The overwhelming nature of the rush of chaotic sensations was crippling for the strongest minds and destructive to the weaker ones. The creature roared as men cried out and when it was over the very nature of life, death, reality, and unreality was forever changed for those who acted as player and witness.

Time corrected itself. As soon as it began the moment was over.

The ground stood charred from the event, with strange plumes of angry crimson smoke rising from it. The symbols that had once been carved by unknown hands into the sides of the rock monoliths had been all but erased by the blast of light. The players, once so special and specifically picked for their needed talents and knowledge, were reduced to simple men either crawling among the aftermath, bewildered and forever touched by a thing they could not unsee; or lay dying unable to live with that vision. The latter were the lucky ones.

Here and there a player was caught in a loop of the events. The moments of chaos repeated themselves over and over across the landscape of a mind that couldn't push the visions out. One player mentally fell to madness as he physically fell to his knees and began crawling backwards. As he spoke his words were in reverse as well. He did this until exhaustion and fright were too much for his heart and it decided it was easier to simply stop beating. There were many different variations on this type of strange behavior, but each ended in the death of a player. The crowd of many was becoming the few.

At the edges of this scene an old man was trying to see through the red smoke and make sense of what had just happened. For as long as he could remember he had prepared for the task of observing what was to take place on this day, but the need to offer such observations was now the farthest thing from his thoughts. There were only two things on his mind in those moments.

Silently he kept the first thing to himself: It had been going so well. What had happened? The other thing he cried out to anyone who might be listening.

Where is my son?

Where is my son?! Has anyone seen him since the glow?!

There was no one left standing to answer the father by this point. Those nearest to him were either dead or lay stunned on the ground playing out their last moments of madness and misery. He was for the moment alone.

Please... the old man whimpered. Please, somebody, anybody... tell me where my son is...

Dead or trapped old man. I can tell you from experience it is better he be dead than trapped.

The old man turned towards the unfamiliar voice speaking to him. It was more than unfamiliar, it was unnatural. The creature it belonged to was indeed most unnatural.

Standing naked before him was what he presumed to be a woman. Her frame was stronger than what he was used to seeing in the average woman and more masculine. Her face, though stern, was quite feminine, even beautiful. Coupled with her modest breasts and the hairless v where her thighs came together he had to assume this was a female; otherwise he might think this a short, slight of build man. Regardless, she was not a human female.

The woman's skin was glossy and the color of cooled ash. Her eyes were the color of silver as were her long nails. Her very coarse looking hair was a dark bluish gray that had been put into double braids that snaked around her head and neck. The father might have found the creature quite exotic, even alluring if he wasn't still in the grips of the horror he'd just experienced. The only thing keeping him from fully giving into that horror was his need to find his son.

Did you come from the doorway? he asked.

The woman looked over her shoulder where not long ago a tall wall of fluid had served as a type of water mirror. It had been the physics defying gateway between the two rock monoliths. It was the veil the players had hoped to draw aside. It was now gone and the woman couldn't help feeling a sense of relief that was tempered with loss. She looked back at the old man.

I did.

He nodded, trying to decipher some positive meaning from this admission. If my son fell behind the veil and could not get back before it closed, would he still be alive?

The woman didn't immediately speak. Though she had a face harder to read for its differences to what he was familiar, he still saw the shadow that passed over her features. Her eyes became sad and he knew she did not want to be completely honest with him.

Please. he implored her. I need to know one way or the other.

He... she began, finding the right words hard. Her tribe were never ones to show empathy when dealing with others of any tribe or breed. Time and circumstance had changed her greatly in that respect. She felt his pain and wanted to ease it as best she could. If he crossed over before the light touched him, he will be alive.

The old man's face showed hope. Yes? Yes?! For how long? How long do I have to save him?!

Again the woman looked troubled, but it was not a sadness she felt. The son might very well be beginning the experience she was coming to the end of. It was unlikely their fates or experiences would be similar though.

There is no how long there. There is no true sense of time in that place trapped behind the water mirror. It can't kill your son... she quickly held up her hand as the old man began to speak. No, wait. Listen carefully to me. It can't stop his heart or take his breath, but the mind is a very different thing. There is no telling what your son would be upon returning. There is no way of knowing how he is perceiving the passage of time there. It could be mere moments or he could have watched a star born and die by the time you reach him. If you seek to return him, consider it as a kindness to free him from his pain. Wish for death though. Sometimes death is better.

There was a silence between the old man and the ash colored woman. The father understood. His wounded heart was quickly tucked away and his intellectual brain took its place.

So be it. he said, accepting all the possible outcomes.

There was a soft murmur of voices starting to rise up around them. The noise was not coming from the mad and dying on the ground. These voices were from those who had been at a safe distance when the horrible event had occurred.

The woman looked around nervously. She was realizing she would be very alien to those that came upon her and she felt her nakedness. The old man realized this too. He set down a heavy bag almost forgotten on his shoulder and took off his long coat and offered it to the woman.

Quick, tell me your name. Your first name. I'll keep you protected from the men that are coming and you will help me find my son. Yes?

The woman nodded in acceptance as she gratefully took the coat and studied it a moment to see how to properly put it on. The clothing of her tribe was not meant as a thing of modesty, but as a utility. Braided ropes holding tools and herb carriers were all her form used to know.

Talha. she whispered as she adjusted to the strange sensation of the material against her skin. It was heavy and itchy, but warm and protecting. My mother Ilt named me Talha.

I am Juniper, Talha. Juniper Driad. Come stand behind me. Er, try and make yourself small if you get my meaning.

Talha did as she was told. She did her best to let the old man's body obscure her as a group of men started to amass in front of them.

Juniper Driad put an arm out and a little behind him to offer some protection for the female behind him. He tried to make his heavy bag more pronounced at his side for an added measure of concealment.

Juniper! My god man! What happened here?!

A very tall man pushed through the small crowd of men. His face was intense as he surveyed the scene. He was addressing the old man.

Juniper started to shake his head slowly. I don't know Edward. Everything was going fine, all the signs where there. My Mayworm was closest to the front of the event. He showed signs of... his voice fell off there. He realized he didn't want to share with this tall man what he'd seen happening to his son. It felt like a reward for a man who had, in the end, been too much of a coward to be at the front of the very ritual he'd set in motion.

Juniper sighed wearily. He showed signs that things were starting to go wrong the more solid the doorway became. It is hard for me to describe. There was a very strange and off-putting feeling to the air here before the event. And a strange glow from behind the doorway. I'm not sure the men standing directly before the doorway could see it.

Edward's face had looked excited for a moment, then it was gone. His one hope had been with the old man's son and if that had failed to work than the heart of the ritual was a failure. Despite all that he'd told his men (that he hadn't shared with the players) he had only one thing he'd wanted to achieve on that day.

Sir?

All eyes moved from the two men talking to a young man kneeling over several dead men. He was inspecting their faces and clothing.

What is it Olwen? Edward asked.

The young man pointed to the dead men. These aren't our men nor are they from any of the players' crews. I don't know who they are. They appear to have our men's credentials though. They have racer plaques.

Edward turned away from the old man and roughly pushed through his group of men. He moved next to Olwen and stared at the three dead men. On first glance they looked much like anyone else in the group. After giving them a bit of a better look though, some of their rough edges started to present themselves.

Open one of their shirts. he commanded the youth.

Beg your pardon sir?

Tear open one of their shirts! Edward roared.

The young man, startled, quickly turned to the dead man nearest to him and took hold of his shirt and tore it open. Beneath the fine white linen was a broad chest covered in strange symbols and crudely rendered creatures. Olwen looked up, bewildered.

Edward made a hissing noise and slammed his fist into his hand.

Bastards!

He knelt down and violently ripped open the shirts of the other two men. Each presented a similar scene: A chest full of simple tattoos offering a language of symbols that was alien to most men there. What was worse were the indescribable creatures that moved among those symbols.

Damned curs!

Slowly the men in the surrounding group began to realize what they were looking at and what this meant. Outside forces had moved unseen in their mist. What they had or hadn't done to bring upon these events was the question. A general noise of mumbling voices ran through the group.

Edward turned towards his men and began barking orders.

"Every man down on the ground must be checked. Shirts off all of them! Dead ones can be piled over there. Keep our men away from this filth so we can tend to them properly, respectfully. Anyone of these tattooed miscreants that are still alive need to be tied up and put in one place. Be wary of all chest markings. Not all