Rood Der: 08: Faerial Warfare

By Douglas Christian Larsen

Rood Der: 08: Faerial Warfare. Archbee Lady Celestaer must marshal the forces of the Air Defense as invading angry wasps sent by Malevolent, Emperor of Wasps, threaten the tribes, while Frances desperately covers Frederic's body with her own, shielding him from a rain of stings and death. The overwhelming enemy can suddenly become the savior, through the Red Door.

How deep are we, immersed in this world we call reality? How many turtles down do we go, in this discombobulated, mixed-metaphor, rabbit-hole world?

Their world might be based on Ayn Rand, her writings, philosophies, and her U.S. Presidency, but how dense are their numbers compressed, and for how long will their simulation even run? This little group has been provided an exit, but would anyone be rude enough to dare and leave their very own reality?

Take the Rude Dare, and Cross over, where data is data, through the Red Door. From the author of Vestigial Surreality comes the new serial novel, Rood Der.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Feb 27, 2017
• ISBN: 9781365786679

Book preview

Rood Der: 08: Faerial Warfare

Rood Der: 08

Faerial Warfare

The Sunday SciFi-Fantasy Serial

by Douglas Christian Larsen

978-1-365-78667-9

© Douglas Christian Larsen 2017

A funnel darkened the sky above her and the ground vibrated with the agitated and incessant buzzing—normal bumblebees were loud enough, but these creatures were the size of small dogs, and the closest to her, twenty feet above her in a slow-motion circle, seemed to have tiny riders upon their furry backs. It looked like a black and gold tornado towering, churning the sky. Giant bumblebees with riders! Standing over Frederic, Frances crouched down with her spear butt held out in front of her as exploratory bees buzzed close—these were very angry bees, and they seemed to have a whole lot more personality than regular bees, their faces—oh their faces, they were looking at her, and they were so pissed off—but even worse were the riders, tiny people dressed in white, the size of dolls, shaking their spears and threatening her with drawn bows, arrow tips glinting in the lowering sunlight.

What kind of insane world had they come to—poor Frederic came here in a last-ditch attempt to save his life, and now this—threatening barbarians, bees the size of beagles, and madcap faeries. One thing at least, the angry bumblebees were also alighting close by on the ground, apparently attacking the creepy parasites. They hadn’t quite attacked her or Frederic, not exactly, not yet, although they had certainly buzzed close enough to almost knock Frances off her feet. But they had not touched her, not yet. They seemed to be deciding her fate, judging her.

Heck, if they wanted—the bees, the faeries—she’d leave now, just pack up her Frederic, fireman-carry him back in the direction of the portal, and hopefully they could escape, get back to their world. But the dark tornado above her, filling the sky, didn’t seem to be exhibiting a whole lot of plans for mercy. Apparently, they were trespassers, she and Frederic, and trespassers were not welcome.

Her right wrist stung. There