T-shirts featuring Juri Umagami’s art for the Merkabah Rider series are available on Teepublic.
Just a heads up that the Have Glyphs Will Travel shirts are on sale for thirteen bucks for the next two days.
M. Wayne Miller’s Interior Art for Merkabah Rider 3: Have Glyphs Will Travel
While I’m plugging away at my John Conquer novel and trying to sell this weird western wuxia book, I thought I’d pop in here and show you guys one of the pieces M. Wayne Miller did for the interior of the forthcoming Merkabah Rider: Have Glyphs Will Travel, which ought to be out in a month.
Here’s a look at the art for The Mules of The Mazzikim, which features Lilith and her boys come to pay The Rider a visit.
Cover Art for Merkabah Rider 3
Hey all, just popping in to give you an advance look at Juri Umagami’s cover art for Merkabah Rider: Have Glyphs Will Travel, the third book in the reissue of the series. As with the other covers’ homages to classic westerns, I asked her to base it on the famous promo still of Butch Cassidy and The Sundance Kid. Back in eighth grade my parents and I took our first trip out to California and stopped by Madame Tussaud’s wax museum, where they had one of those gag photo booths at the back end. They superimposed my face on Paul Newman’s body and my dad’s on Robert Redford’s. I guess I’ve always had a soft spot for this pic since then, and I’m happy to see it here.
Red Dead References: Western Film Homages In RDR2
Well like many people I’ve been playing a lot of Rockstar Games’ glorious, sure to be Game of The Year Red Dead Redemption 2….too much, really.
As an avid western film and history fan I’ve been thrilled by the amount of period detail in every nook and cranny, and having put in several hours gameplay, I’ve noticed quite a few visual callbacks to western movies – classics like The Wild Bunch and Outlaw Josey Wales, etc. I thought it might be fun to list some examples. A couple of these are pretty obscure, and could well be my own wishful thinking.
I’m only three chapters into the game, but these are some of the references I’ve noticed so far.
Every time I peel the hide off a rabbit I’m reminded of hapless Jeff Bridges in one of my favorite westerns, Bad Company.
Muddy Valentine sure reminds me of the sloppy streets of this Michael J. Pollard movie, Dirty Little Billy. Couldn’t find a good pic of the town itself, but the cast seems to wade in mud and horse shit.
With it’s unpainted, under construction buildings (and tyrannical Emerald Ranch boss), I was also reminded of the muddy town of Harmonville from Open Range, a movie that informs much of RDR2’s fashion sense as well.
Speaking of fashion, the custom legendary animal skin hats the trapper crafts are obviously a callback to Jeremiah Johnson.
Though the bear attacks are right out of The Revenant….
The unrepentant Rebels of The Outlaw Josey Wales and The Long Riders are somewhat akin to the Lemoyne Raiders that plague you around the town of Rhodes, though the latter movie’s preferred mode of dress seems to inspire the various bounty hunters and Pinkertons that come after you in the course of the game. Two Carradines from The Long Riders pictured here at what could very well be Clemens Point.
My Name Is Nobody sees Terrence Hill and Henry Fonda square off in the streets of New Orleans, obviously the reference for the town of Saint Denis.
The snowbound country of West Grizzly and extraterrestrial-plagued (look it up) Mount Shann reminded me instantly of the Corbucci classic The Great Silence, and it’s surely where the devs got their love of the broom handled Mauser pistol.
The town of Presbyterian Church from McCabe and Mrs. Miller seems to lend its look to the hilly town of Strawberry (is Strawberry a reference to Moebius’ seminal western comic Blueberry? I might be reaching there).
The assorted bumbling Klansmen one can encounter in the game are surely in part a reference to the idiotic (and flammable) proto-Klansmen depicted in Django Unchained.
I know I’ve seen that scarecrow riding around the wheat fields – I think near Emerald Ranch. Hard to distinguish this from actual game footage, but this shot is from Slow West with Michael Fassbender.
Finally (and this is just a bit of fun on my part), I doubt anybody at Rockstar has read my Merkabah Rider series,Merkabah Rider series, but it doesn’t stop me from using this engraving customization to mock up an approximation of the Rider’s Volcanic pistol.
What are some visual references you’ve noticed? I may amend this post as I progress through the game.
M. Wayne Miller’s Art for Merkabah Rider 2….
Merkabah Rider: High Planes Drifter is out now, revamped, with a new short story, brand new cover by Juri Umagami and interior art by M. Wayne Miller.
So how about a preview of M. Wayne Miller’s interior art for Merkabah Rider 2: The Mensch With No Name?
Here’s the illo for ‘The Infernal Napoleon.’
Merkabah Rider: High Planes Drifter Is Now Available
After a long hiatus, Merkabah Rider, the greatest weird western about a Hasidic gunslinger tracking the renegade teacher who betrayed his mystic Jewish order of astral travelers across the demon haunted Southwest of 1879 is back in print and Kindle on Amazon.
Featuring new interior illustrations by M. Wayne Miller and cover art by Juri Umagami.
“Ed Erdelac’s Merkabah Rider is equal parts Tolkien, Leone, and Lovecraft and yet manages to remain completely original, and that is quite an accomplishment. This is a FANTASTIC series. – Geof Darrow, Eisner Award winning creator of Shaolin Cowboy and Hard Boiled.
“The Rider is a fabulous character, in all senses of that word, and Erdelac’s a fabulous writer. High Planes Drifter contains all the demons, ancient gods, and gunplay a lover of weird westerns could want, but told from an angle no one else has touched before. Where else are you going to find a Jewish Doctor Strange packing heat in the old west? Nowhere, that’s where. This is crazily entertaining stuff.” – Daryl Gregory, award-winning author of Pandemonium and Spoonbenders
“Riding out of the Old West comes the Merkabah Rider, a Hasidic gunfighter who owes his provenance as much to the nasty inhabitants of Elmore Leonard’s westerns as he does his piousness to Robert E. Howard’s Solomon Kane. This highly original episodic series breathes new life into the overworked western with tight action, inglorious heroes, and unpredictable plots.” – Weston Ochse, award-winning author of SEAL Team 666 and Scarecrow Gods.
“I don’t have any hesitation in calling Merkabah Rider: High Planes Drifter the pinnacle of the Weird West genre, and one that will be hard to surplant.” -Sci Fi and Fantasy Reviewer
“Edward M. Erdelac’s Merkabah Rider: Tales Of A High Planes Drifter is without reservation one of the best Weird Westerns to roll into town in the last decade, if not the best.” – Cory Gross, Voyages Extraordinaires
Now available! Give it a read, tell your friends! Thanks, all!
The Rider Rides Again
It’s been HOW long since I posted here? Too long.
Well, here’s the cover art for the forthcoming re-release of my Merkbah Rider series – HIGH PLANES DRIFTER (yeah, I’m shortening the title a bit). The artist is Juri Umagami (whose Instagram is HERE).
Sharp-eyed fans will see this is a canny homage to the classic western that inspired the title, Eastwood’s High Plains Drifter.
Wait till you see what we have planned for next book, The Mensch With No Name. I’d spoil it, but I’d never FORGIVE myself….
This first re-release will feature an additional little seen Rider story, The Shomer Express, and interior art by M. Wayne Miller who did the covers for my novel Terovolas and my collection Angler In Darkness.
Coming soon….
Merkabah Rider Tales Of A High Planes Drifter……Adios
Howdy ‘lil boychicks and maidels,
My contract with the publisher of Merkabah Rider: Tales Of A High Planes Drifter, the first in the Merkabah Rider series (read all about that here), has ridden off into the sunset, so all those that are out there in the ether (and there are a lot) and the used paperback copies putzing around on Amazon, bookfinder, and ebay are all there will be for the foreseeable future.
I do have a limited number of hard copies on hand which fifteen bucks American (via Paypal) will part me with. Just email me at emerdelac(at)gmail.com if you want to work that out. That’s fifteen bucks shipping included, and I’ll sign it for you as well.
Books two, three, and four remain numberless, but in the next two years as their respective contracts expire, they’ll be going into a Disney-like moratorium as well, so grab ’em while they’re red hot.
-Adios
In other news, it looks like in addition to my forthcoming short story appearances (I’m counting four right now), I’ve got two new releases scheduled for August, a new novel, Andersonville, and a novella collection, With Sword And Pistol.
More on those later.
The Reverend Mr. Goodworks And The Yeggs Of Yig Appearing In Steampunk Cthulhu
Up for preorder from Chaosium Books and editors Brian Sammons and Glynn Owen Barrass is Steampunk Cthulhu, featuring stories from Jeffrey Thomas, Adam Bolivar, Carrie Cuinn, William Meikle, John Goodrich, Lee Clark Zumpe, D.J. Tyrer, Christine Morgan, Christopher M. Geeson, Thana Niveau, Leigh Kimmel, Josh Reynolds, Robert Neilson, Pete Rawlik, and including my story The Reverend Mister Goodworks and The Yeggs of Yig.
The book is due out June 16th and features a killer cover from Daniele Serra, who also did the cover for my novel Coyote’s Trail.
Readers of my Merkabah Rider series may recognize the name The Reverend Mister Goodworks from the final book in the series, Once Upon A Time In The Weird West.
Also known as The Reverend Shadrach Mischach Abednego Carter, a former train engineer who, after a horrific crash, is partially reconstructed with steam engine parts and becomes a battling preacher dedicated to the destruction of evil, the Reverend Mr. Goodworks plays a sizable part in the events of Once Upon A Time In The Weird West.
This story can be considered a prequel spinoff which directly ties into the the last MR novel, and provides some insight into the character.
I actually wrote this some time before I published Once Upon A Time In The Weird West, so I’m excited to see it in print at last. It involves the servants of the Lovecraftian deity Yig (obviously), and ties into the Old Testament story of the Nehushtan.
In this story, the Reverend encounters a distraught pregnant Mexican woman fleeing across the desert at night. Although she begs him to kill her before they are born, the Reverend delivers her children, only to be attacked by them as they slither from her womb; a pair of vicious serpent-human hybrids. He sets out to find those responsible for this abomination….
Here’s an excerpt.
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The Reverend lurched into New Valusia sometime before noon, the sand grinding in his knee joints. It was little more than a few communal frame houses, some gardens, and a couple outbuildings, all arranged around a two story farmhouse with a veranda.
On the porch stood a strikingly tall, lean, yellow haired woman in a white and purple robe. She folded her sun freckled arms at his approach.
Several of the New Valusians in white cassocks rose from their various tasks to interpose themselves, bearing only shovels and hoes as weapons. The Reverend was forced to halt or else plough through them.
He stood quietly, a head taller than their tallest, and surveyed the small crowd.
“Which of you is Susannah?” he bellowed at last.
“I’m Sister Susannah Coyle,” said the woman on the porch. “What brings you here?”
“The Lord brang me here,” drawled the Reverend, unfastening his coat.
“Well, the Lord welcome you.”
“Not your lord, bitch,” growled the Reverend.
He threw open his greatcoat like a knightly tabard.
Beneath, his body was flat black with steel accents, like the shell of a richly ornamented locomotive engine. Indeed, his chest resembled the face of a locomotive, with the dim lamp set in the center. His torso was further festooned with dancing pressure gauges and valve wheels, like a harness of little metal daisies. His heavy, ironclad legs bristled with pistons and driveshafts that plunged and hissed as he moved.
There was a thick bandolier belted around his blocky waist. Hanging from the belt was an old LeMat pistol. He brought his left arm up sharply, accompanied by a series of mechanical whirs and clicks. The sleeve was split down the middle from elbow to cuff, allowing the arm to emerge from the fabric unencumbered. His right hand went to his elbow and jacked a brass lever there. A strange amalgamation of octagonal rifle barrels, three in number, and situated in a kind of pyramid one atop the other, appeared at the end of the metal arm.
The Reverend rightly assumed any of these New Valusians walking around of their own volition were acquiescent in the hell the young woman he’d buried had been put through. He had no compunctions about firing into their midst, but he directed his aim at the statuesque Susannah Coyle, furiously levering his tri-repeater arm and cutting loose with a rapid barrage.
The New Valusians weren’t used to facing gunfire and scattered, dropping their makeshift weapons in their mad flight.
Susannah Coyle didn’t budge. To his amazement, the fifteen bullets he had flung in her direction all stopped and hung suspended in mid-air a few feet from the porch, spinning in a tight group.
When he lowered his smoking arm, frowning, he became aware of a deep thrumming in the air.
The door to the house opened and two muscular white-clad men armed with primitive, two-handed stone headed mallets appeared.
“The Pacifier Field,” Susannah explained, flicking the spinning bullets one by one with her finger until they bounced down the porch steps and rolled harmlessly in the dust at the Reverend’s feet. “An electromagnetic generator. It protects our Nesting House from those who do violence. It’s on its most agreeable setting now, but when I order it directed against your person, it will repel all your metal components, even from each other. That suit of yours will come apart and fly to the compass points.”
“It’s not a suit,” said the Reverend.
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Steampunk Cthulhu is up for preorder now on Amazon.com.
The Wood Of Ephraim in Sword And Mythos
My Lovecraftian sword and sorcery story The Wood Of Ephraim appears in Sword And Mythos, a beautiful new book from Innsmouth Free Press featuring stories from the ever lovin’ Willie Miekle, my friend and master of steamfunk/sword and soul, Balogun Ojedate, Maurice Broaddus, Graham J. Darling, Paul Jessup, Nadia Bulkin, Bogi Takacs, Orrin Grey, Diana L. Paxson, Adrian Chamberlain, Thana Niveau, E. Catherine Tobler, Nellie Geraldine Garcia-Rosas, and Greg Yuen, and featuring essays by G.W. Thomas, Paula Stiles, and Silvia Moreno-Garcia, who is even now bringing you She Walks In Shadows, an all-female author anthology of Lovecraftian fiction.
Set during the reign of King David, The Wood Of Ephraim is a retelling of the Biblical account of the death of David’s rebel son Prince Absalom. While fleeing David’s men, Absalom’s long and lustrous hair was famously caught in the low hanging branches of a tree. He was discovered by David’s high general, Joab, who hated Absalom’s guts over various slights in the past, and promptly slain.
I suppose indirectly this story takes place in the universe of my Merkabah Rider series, which posits the existence of the Outer Gods as being which existed in the chaos prior to the creation of the physical universe, and directly references an idea put forth by one of the characters in MR, that the Old Ones (in particular, Shub Niggurath) were unleashed on the earth in Noah’s time, and once again, unwittingly, by King David himself….
But it’s also a sword swinging adventure/ survival horror story of the type I absolutely loved to read in my teenaged years, as penned by Robert E. Howard, and probably takes a bit of inspiration from a King Conan comic (#15) I read and re-read as a kid (and also, just a little bit, Xenophon’s Anabasis). It features the Gibborim – David’s legendary hand picked band of elite warriors, who were the ancient Hebrew equivalent of the Argonauts and Robin Hood’s Merry Men wrapped into one.
This is a great book with some excellent, diverse stories and settings, ranging from Africa to Albion. I love what I’ve read of it so far.
Here’s an excerpt from my own offering.
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At their approach the aspect of the hanging man grew clear. The ostentatious purple cloak, better suited to the court than the battlefield, the handsome mail, the golden spangles adorning the thin, struggling arms, the rich, jewel studded sandals ten feet off the ground.
Prince Absalom’s grimacing face was partly obscured in the tangle of branches and his own famously long and lustrous hair, which was drawn tightly across his eyes, likely a result of his own efforts to extricate himself.
They came to stand immediately below him in the road. Some of them smiled to see the unfortunate traitor so lucklessly suspended by the chief object of his own vanity.
Joab laughed aloud.
“It seems your pretty locks have caught you up, O prince,” he remarked.
“Shall we pluck this fruit down for you, General?” roared Ira ben Ikkesh.
“Let it ripen!” shouted Hezro.
“Yes,” laughed Gareb, “it’s yet too bitter for the general’s plate!”
“Perhaps we should leave it here to rot,” Elez suggested in all seriousness. “Or divide it amongst us.”
The laughter died down at that. All eyes went to Joab.
Naharai frowned.
“No,” said Joab. “We will cut him down.” He looked back at Zalmon. “The king’s orders are clear.”
“Yes master,” said Zalmon, nodding his approval and glancing at Naharai, who smiled broadly, vindicated.
Joab looked up at the prince, kicking and whimpering in the branches.
“Don’t worry about sparing his lovely hair, men,” said Joab. “He left me once with a bare field because I didn’t come quickly enough when he called. Now we’ll leave him stubble-headed because he didn’t come running when his father bade him.”
Zalmon and two other men moved off the road, intending to scale the tree and hack through bough or hair.
Then Jeribai the charioteer called out from behind.
“Wait!”
The three Gibborim stopped and looked back.
Naharai felt a chill then, as something wet splashed his bare arm. He looked down to see a perfectly round spot of blood, followed quickly by another.
“Look to his face!” Jeribai urged, pointing up at Absalom, his eyes bugging.
The men on the road moved around to Jeribai’s vantage to get a better look. Naharai backed away, smearing the blood down his arm.
They saw that the spindly fingers of the tree branch were hooked into the corners of Absalom’s clenched mouth, which oozed blood.
For a moment Naharai wondered why Absalom suffered the intrusion as a simple movement of his jaw could have easily dislodged the offending branches. But then he saw; they all saw. The tendons in his neck, the muscles in his jaw, were bunched in an effort to keep his teeth shut against the pull of some unknown force. There were ragged cuts in his lips. His breaths came out in terrified white puffs in the cold air. Before their eyes, his jaw wrenched open with a pop and he screamed.
Then with a hiss, something snaked its way rapidly up the branch, faster than any serpent, snapping twigs and shedding a few brown crackling leaves in its haste. White, shiny tubers circled up the base of every branch, converging on Absalom. They flowed down his throat, filling his gaping mouth with thick wood stuff, choking off his screaming.
The whole tree shuddered as if in ecstasy. A wet sucking sound came down to them. The slick tubers in his mouth quivered. The men staggered back at the perverse spectacle of the blindfolded prince dancing jerkily in the tree limbs. Something dark that was not blood filled the tubers spilling from his mouth, which were translucent enough to see the course it took back to the trunk of the great tree.
“Lord!” Naharai exclaimed. “What is it?”
Eliam looked about to answer when Joab commanded;
“Save the prince!”
Zalmon and the two other warriors at the edge of the road drew their swords and axes and hesitated, unsure whether to pursue their earlier course and climb the tree to reach Absalom, or hew it down instead.
“General!”
It was Eliam, now at Joab’s shoulder.
“It’s too late.”
Joab opened his mouth to protest, but then saw the weird wet stalks thrusting themselves further down Absalom’s throat, so far his neck bulged hideously outward beneath his chin.
He flipped the spear in his hand, drawing it back over his shoulder.
“No!” Naharai interrupted, pushing forward and grabbing Joab’s arm. “Remember the king’s edict!”
By now word had reached King David that the battle had ended in victory and that his son had fled. If Absalom were killed, no one would believe Joab had not murdered him.
But the general was a bull, and the strongest of them. With a mere shrug, Naharai clattered to the road.
Joab regained himself and cast the spear. It transfixed Prince Absalom through the chest, a killing blow. Yet still the prince thrashed and fought. His teeth ground loudly against the tubers, finally cracking off in his mouth under the strain.
“Spear!” Joab cried.
Jeribai took hold of one of the general’s spears and tossed it to Joab.
Joab ran Prince Absalom through a second time. The body lurched and sagged in the grip of the tree, blood spurting down the haft.
The flow of stuff from the corpse ceased. There was a sound like a cross between the groan of falling timber and a hysterical chittering.
Then before their eyes, the branches entwined about the dead prince’s head moved.
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Pick up a copy of the book here or on Amazon –
http://www.innsmouthfreepress.com/blog/tb-books/sword-and-mythos/
Delirium Tremens 