Dawn of Flame & The Black Flame by Stanley G. Weinbaum

Book Details

What price love? What price immortality? There’s a revolution brewing when Thomas Conner wakes after hundreds of years in the grave. Mortals versus immortals, the Weeds versus the Master, and Conner, by virtue of his resurrection, lands right in the middle of it.

Dawn of Flame – Lovely but cruel, young but immortal, the Black Princess rode into Ormiston, a living flame . . . with death like a gift in her hand!
Chapter I – The World
Chapter II – Old Einar
Chapter III – The Master Marches
Chapter IV – The Battle of Eaglefoot Flow
Chapter V – Black Margot
Chapter VI – The Harriers
Chapter VII – Panate Blood
Chapter VIII – Torment
Chapter IX – The Trap
Chapter X – Old Einar Again

The BLACK FLAME – Thomas Conner Pits Ancient Knowledge and Daring Against Immortals Who Have Ruled a Strange New World for Centuries. Black Margot was half sweet provocative goddess—and half brutal devil who would endeavour to steal all his knowledge and his heart.
Chapter I – Penalty—and Aftermath
Chapter II – Evanie the Sorceress
Chapter III – Forest Meeting
Chapter IV – A Bit of Ancient History
Chapter V – The Village
Chapter VI – The Metamorphs
Chapter VII – Panate Blood
Chapter VIII – In Time of Peace
Chapter IX – The Way to Urbs
Chapter X – Revolution
Chapter XI – Flight
Chapter XII – The Messenger
Chapter XIII – The Trail Back
Chapter XIV – The Master
Chapter XV – Two Women
Chapter XVI – Immortality
Chapter XVII – The Destiny of Man
Chapter XVIII – The Sky-Rat
Chapter XIX – Death Flight?
Chapter XX – The Conspirators
Chapter XXI -The Dinner at the Sleeper’s
Chapter XXII – Declaration
Chapter XXIII – The Amphimorphs in the Pool
Chapter XXIV – The Atomic Bomb
Chapter XXV – Inferno
Chapter XXVI – The Master Sits in Judgment

These two related stories, Dawn of Flame and The Black Flame are frequently considered Stanley G. Weinbaum’s best works. Weinbaum, (1902-1935) wrote The Black Flame first, then six months later in his short eighteen month writing career, wrote the prequel, Dawn of Flame.

Dawn of Flame & The Black Flame has 14 illustrations.

Files:

1. blackFlame.epub

Excerpt: The Black Flame

Chapter I

Penalty—and Aftermath

THOMAS MARSHALL CONNOR was about to die. The droning voice of the prison chaplain gradually dulled his perception instead of stimulating his mind. Everything was hazy and indistinct to the condemned man. He was going to the electric chair in just ten minutes to pay the supreme penalty because he had accidentally killed a man with his bare fists.

Connor, vibrantly alive, vigorous and healthy, only twenty-six. a brilliant young engineer, was going to die. And, knowing, he did not care. But there was nothing at all nebulous about the gray stone and cold iron bars of the death cell. There was nothing uncertain about the split down his trouser leg and the shaven spot on his head.

The condemned man was acutely aware of the solidarity of material things about him. The world he was leaving was concrete and substantial. The approaching footsteps of the death guard sounded heavily in the distance.

Then the cell door opened, and the chaplain ceased his murmuring. Passively Thomas Marshall Connor accepted his blessings, and calmly took his position between his guards for his last voluntary walk.

He remained in his state of detachment as they seated him in the chair, strapped his body and fastened the electrodes. He heard the faint rustling of the witnesses and the nervous, rapid scratching of reporters’ pencils. He could imagine their adjectives: “Calloused murderer” . . . “Brazenly indifferent to his fate.”

But it was as if the matter concerned a third party.

He simply relaxed and waited. To die so quickly and painlessly was more a relief than anything. He was not even aware when the warden gave his signal. There was a sudden silent flash of blue light. And then—nothing at all.

* * * * *

SO THIS was death. The slow and majestic drifting through the Stygian void, borne on the ageless tides of eternity.

Peace, at last—peace, and quiet, and rest.

But what was this sensation like the glimpse of a faint, faraway light which winked on and off like a star? After an interminable period the light became fixed and steady, a thing of annoyance. Thomas Marshall Connor slowly became aware of the fact of his existence as an entity, in some unknown state. The sense and memories that were his personality struggled weakly to reassemble themselves into a thinking unity of being—and he became conscious of pain and physical torture.

There was a sound of shrill voices, and a stir of fresh air. He became aware of his body again. He lay quietly, inert and exhausted. But not as lifeless as he had lain for—how long?

When the shrill voices sounded again, Connor opened unseeing eyes and stared at the blackness just above him. After a space he began to see, but not to comprehend. The blackness became a jagged, pebbled roof no more than twelve inches from his eyes, rough and unfinished like the underside of a concrete walk.

The light became a glimmer of daylight from a point near his right shoulder.

Another sensation crept into his awareness. He was horribly, bitterly cold. Not with the chill of winter air, but with the terrible frigidity of inter-galactic space. Yet he was on- -no, in— earth of some sort. It was as if icy water flowed in his veins instead of blood. Yet he felt completely dehydrated. His body was as inert as though detached from his brain, but he was cruelly imprisoned within it. He became conscious of a growing resentment of this fact.

Then, stimulated by the shrilling, piping voices and the patter of tiny feet out there somewhere to the right, he made a tremendous effort to move. There was a dry, withered crackling sound like the crumpling of old parchment, but indubitably his right arm had lifted!

The exertion left him weak and nauseated. For a time he lay as if in a stupor. Then a second effort proved easier. After another timeless interval of struggling torment his legs yielded reluctant obedience to his brain. Again he lay quietly, exhausted, but gathering strength for the supreme effort of bursting from his crypt.

For he knew now where he was. He lay in what remained of his grave. How or why, he did not know. That was to be determined.

Excerpt From: Stanley G. Weinbaum. “Dawn of Flame -and- The Black Flame.”