Gothic Noir in the Tradition of Weird Tales: The Weird Tales of Dorgo the Dowser, Book One: Mad Shadows by Joe Bonadonna

Sunday, January 5th, 2020 | Posted by John ONeill

Mad Shadows Joe Bonadonna-small Mad Shadows Joe Bonadonna-back-small

Joe Bonadonna’s first swords and sorcery collection Mad Shadows: The Weird Tales of Dorgo the Dowser, which won the 2017 Golden Book Readers’ Choice Award for Fantasy, is one of the most successful modern S&S offerings — especially among our readers. It contains many fine stories, including the novelette “The Moonstones of Sor Lunarum,” perhaps the most popular piece of online fiction ever published at Black Gate.

Mad Shadows was originally published in January 2011, and last month Pulp Hero Press released a second revised edition with a new cover, new maps, revised text, and an expanded Afterword on Heroic Fantasy and Sword & Sorcery. In his 2012 review Fletcher Vredenburgh wrote “Mad Shadows is good stuff. It’s got no pretensions to be anything other than a worthy addition to the canons of S&S and there it’s wildly successful.” And in his BG article “The Coming of Dorgo the Dowser,” William Patrick Maynard wrote:

Joe Bonadonna describes his fiction as ‘Gothic Noir’ and it is entirely appropriate. As much as Mad Shadows succeeds in carrying on the tradition of Weird Tales, the brooding, darkly-humored Dorgo could have easily found a home in the pages of Black Mask if only his (dowsing) rod shot lead rather than divined spirits. The six stories in Mad Shadows offer a mixture of traditional sword & sorcery necromancers and demons as well as werewolves, vampires, witches, and bizarre half-human mutations that H. P. Lovecraft would happily embrace.

Joe followed up his original collection with Mad Shadows II: Dorgo the Dowser and The Order of the Serpent in 2017 (which Fletcher reviewed for us here). Read an excerpt right here at Black Gate.

The Weird Tales of Dorgo the Dowser, Book One: Mad Shadows was published by Pulp Hero Press on December 8, 2019. It is 282 pages, priced at $14.95 in paperback, and is available worldwide in paperback and Kindle editions. Check it out, and read all our previous coverage of Dorgo’s adventures here.


Black Gate Online Fiction: An Excerpt from Mad Shadows II — Dorgo the Dowser and The Order of the Serpent

Saturday, January 28th, 2017 | Posted by John ONeill

By Joe Bonadonna


This is an excerpt from the novel Mad Shadows II — Dorgo the Dowser and The Order of the Serpent by Joe Bonadonna, presented by Black Gate magazine. It appears with the permission of Joe Bonadonna, and may not be reproduced in whole or in part. All rights reserved. Copyright 2017 by Joe Bonadonna.

Mad Shadows 2 cover by Erika M. Szabo-smallI guess a little introduction is in order. Since the 2011 publication of Mad Shadows: The Weird Tales of Dorgo the Dowser, a lot has happened, including writing three other novels, a number of short stories, doing some editing work, contributing to Black Gate magazine, and writing for Janet Morris’ Heroes in Hell series.

When I finally completed Mad Shadows II — Dorgo the Dowser and The Order of the Serpent in November 2016, I decided to self-publish this one, as I did the first volume, but taking a different route this time. However, I couldn’t do it all alone. I needed a little help.

Enter the very talented author and artist, Erika M Szabo, who writes and illustrates children’s books such as her Metoo, The Annoying Little Sister; Pico, The Pesky Parrot; and Look, I Can Talk With My Fingers. She also writes Young Adult, Historical Fantasy, such as Protected by the Falcon and Chosen by the Sword, among others. What Erika also has going for her is Golden Box Books, her own publishing outfit, offering everything from design and editing, to marketing and promotion.

I worked exclusively with Erika, who held my hand and basically did everything for me: book cover, interior design, ISBN numbers, formatting for Kindle and paperback versions, and taking my very amateurish-looking map, which I had drawn for the first volume, and giving it a very cool make-over. All I can say is thank you, Erika . . . you are truly the Godmother of Dorgo the Dowser. If any of you out there are looking to self-publish and need some help, I highly recommend Erika M Szabo and Golden Box Books. 

Now . . . back to Mad Shadows II — Dorgo the Dowser and The Order of the Serpent.

Whereas the first volume consisted of six stories linked together by the main character of Dorgo, this time around there are three novellas linked by a common thread: three different cases in which Dorgo finds himself involved, all with clues and ties that set him on the trail of The Order of The Serpent. Here then is the opening of part three of my novel. Thank you!


Part Three

The Order of the Serpent

Her name was Jivvy Trenovis, a pretty young woman in her early twenties, with sienna-hued skin beginning to turn blue from the cold. She was lying naked in the snow of a small clearing, stretched out as if she were about to be crucified. A circle of nine candles surrounded her; black candles, still burning. Her eyes were fixed and open, not blinking or squinting from the glare of the sun, but she wasn’t looking at anything in this world. She was still breathing . . . just barely. In her left fist she clutched a crumpled piece of parchment.

Naked trees swayed in the gentle breeze like dancing skeletons. Icicles dripped cold tears from bony branches. Fresh snow covered the ground like a burial shroud. Somewhere off in the forest, a banshee howled at the morning sun. Not a good omen.

Nine black worms slithered in an endless circle around Jivvy. They were as long as my cavalry saber, and each had human arms and a face that would have looked perfect on a mummy. Although I wanted to snatch the paper from her hand, I didn’t — not with those ghastly fat worms in the way. I’d never seen creatures like those before.

“I was on my way to Valdar when I found her,” Captain Mazo told me. “Her brother’s not home. I found her clothes piled near the back door.”

I stared at the tall, muscular black man. He wore black leather boots, gloves and leggings, as well as a shiny metal breastplate, greaves and helmet. A purple cloak hanging from his shoulders swayed gracefully in the soft breeze. Mazo’s property bordered the land owned by Jivvy and her brother; their cottage wasn’t far from the clearing where the good captain had found her. He had wasted no time in dragging me out of bed afterward.

“You can probably find her brother at Kortono’s Cave or the Hungry Hyena,” I said, handing him the blanket he had used to cover Jivvy.

Mazo frowned and pointed. “What’s that in the snow, over there?”

I looked to where he pointed.

It was the charred remains of a small book, lying like a discarded afterthought beyond the rim of the circle. The bizarre worms watched me walk over and pick it up. The book looked as if it had been struck by lightning. The front cover bore an embossed sigil of a winged serpent swallowing its own tail, and there was a scorched hole in the center that had burned straight through to the back cover. Every page had been seared black, every word obliterated.

There was something else I noticed: two sets of cloven hoof prints in the snow, one set led to the outer rim of the circle, the other set led away from the clearing. Too small for a cyclops, the prints could only have been made by satyrs, fauns or some form of demon.

I stuffed the book inside a pocket and scratched the scar on my left cheek. Being curious about those strange worms, I waved my hand back and forth, just beyond their reach. The creatures took turns snapping at my fingers with their tiny, human-like teeth. They even tried to grab me with their gnarled and twisted hands. I snatched back my hand.

Mad Shadows 2 cover by Erika M. Szabo wrap-small

“Aren’t you going to use your hoodoo wand?” asked Mazo.

I reached behind me with my left hand and drew the dowsing rod from the quiver slung across my back. The rod is a Y-shaped branch carved from a yew tree, three boots long and as thick as three or four arrows lashed together. Unlike dowsing for water, where you grip the rod by its two upper forks, I held the bottom stem in my hand and pointed the forks at the worms.

They hissed and gnashed their teeth at the dowsing rod. One of them even made an attempt to seize it. I stepped back and lowered the rod, surprised by my findings. I felt and sensed nothing supernatural or demonic about the creatures; whatever magical power they possessed was inherent to their natural state of being. They were not something conjured or summoned from one of the Otherworlds of the Echoverse. No, they were real, earthly creatures, part of my world. Exactly where they had come from, I had no idea. Tanyime is a big world.

Time wasn’t my ally. I had to get to Jivvy, but with those worms in the way I didn’t want to chance getting bitten or even scratched. They might have been poisonous. So I unsheathed my saber and lashed out, lopping off the mummified head of the nearest worm. Purple ichor oozed from the butchered creature as it crumpled in the snow. The two worms closest in formation to that one then flung themselves upon me. I yelled, dropped my sword and dowsing rod, and struggled to keep the things from chewing and clawing at my flesh. I stumbled backward.

Mazo rushed in, using his dagger to stab both worms and pry them from me. They fell to the ground and tried to scurry back to the circle, but I picked up my sword and hacked off their heads. The remaining six did nothing but continue their circular march, slithering around the twitching bodies of their fallen comrades.

Then a strange thing occurred.

The bodies of the vermicular vermin I had decapitated wiggled across the snow and reattached themselves to their heads. Without missing a beat, the black worms crawled back into line and resumed their slithering vigilance. They reminded me of a group of madmen I’d once seen at the local bedlam in Valdar: nine old men, their wits long gone, constantly marching in a circle around a stone pillar. I’d have to use more stealth in dealing with these bizarre things.

Tethered to the tree next to Teedo, my new chestnut stallion, Mazo’s huge, black-furred unicat pawed the ground. The great beast’s spiral-shaped horn jutted from the center of its massive skull and gleamed like a bronze javelin in the sunlight. My horse whickered nervously.

“Cham, do me a favor. Go back to Jivvy’s house and get me two torches,” I told him.

Without a word, Mazo handed me the blanket and ran back to the cottage while I continued to watch the worms moving in their circular pattern. It was an odd sight, to be sure. Watching the worms crawling in a circle around her, never attempting to get at her, made me believe they were there to defend her. But how could this be? These worms weren’t of demonic or supernatural origin. These worms were trained . . . but by whom? And how could such earthly creatures reattach their bodies to their heads like that? It was uncanny. It was unnatural.

I realized that in order for me to pull Jivvy free and take her someplace where someone might be able to help her, I saw no other choice but to destroy the creatures.

A few more moments passed before Mazo returned with a blazing torch in each hand.

“Thanks,” I said, tossing the blanket aside and taking one of the torches from him. “Now, when I cut the head off a worm, see if you can keep the others at bay with your torch.”

I raised my sword and hacked the head off the nearest worm. Mazo shoved the torch at the others as they gnashed their human-like teeth and clawed the air with their tiny human hands. One even managed to hurl itself from the circle, but I sliced it in half and burned it with my torch. Then, while Mazo waved his torch threateningly in the faces of the other worms, I torched the head and body of the first worm. Once that monstrous maggot had been reduced to ash, the captain and I dealt with the others.

“That was too easy,” Mazo said when it was over.

I shook my head, knelt next to the circle again and cautiously reached out to Jivvy. I touched her neck first, then her face and finally, her hands. She was colder than the air, colder than the ice and snow. I pried open the fingers that clutched the paper, removed it from her hand and smoothed it out. There were only two words written with red ink on the paper:

Ophidious Garloo

Mazo tapped me on the shoulder. “Do you have any idea what those words mean?”

I turned to stare at him, a thoughtful frown slowly wrinkling his brow. “I’d be lying if I said I did. Sounds like a name doesn’t it?”

“Yes. But whose?”

“I guess that’s something one of us will have to find out.”

“I have great confidence in you, Dowser.”

“Thanks a lot.”

Mad Shadows 2 Map by Erika M. Szabo-small

Folding the paper, I shoved it inside a pocket and picked up my dowsing rod. I pointed the two upper forks at Jivvy and walked in a slow circle around her. The irony that I was doing exactly what those worms had been doing did not escape me.

My left hand suddenly began to grow numb and turn green. I stepped back a few boots, and both the numbness and discoloration faded from my hand. I moved closer to Jivvy, and my hand went numb and turned green again. Not only was her body cold, but her soul was cold, too. It felt as if part of her had left her body . . . as if she already had one foot in another world.

Through my dowsing rod, I sensed no trace of malefic Odylic Power; no spell from any magic of which I was familiar had been cast over her. There was no ectoplasmic residue of any supernatural entity having attacked her. Neither was there any lingering miasma of some demonic presence. And yet some form of power had been unleashed in that clearing, something eldritch and so ancient that it had been all but lost and forgotten in the mists of Time.

It was obvious that Jivvy had been attempting some ritual either to protect herself or to attack someone else. But without the proper training and guidance, she’d been like a child who’d been burned playing with fire. Something had gone horribly wrong.

Jivvy moaned wordlessly. I looked at her lying there so frail and helpless in the snow. She reminded me of a broken doll some child had discarded.

Mazo covered her gently with the blanket and then looked at me. “Take her to the Hoof and Horn Club,” he said. “I’ll go look for her brother.”

Jivvy screamed in terror. Faint wisps of green smoke curled from her mouth.

The sky exploded with thunder and a freezing rain began to fall. A sudden chill that wasn’t related to the weather crawled inside my belly like one of those strange, black worms.


The Hoof and Horn Club is a sprawling villa near Valdar, the chief port and capital city of the kingdom of Rojahndria. Fir, pine trees and a twelve-foot wall of stone surround the estate, and two young minotaurs always guard its massive iron gates. In the courtyard stands a great fountain with a towering statue of a cyclops urinating into a pool of water.

The club is basically a private refuge for the centaurs, satyrs, minotaurs and other Muthologians who had come from Khanya-Toth to live in Valdar. But it’s also a rest home for retired or disabled veterans of the Crimson Sand Arena, both halflings and humans, and a hospice for the sick and dying, as well. Other than gladiators, charioteers, physicians and nurses, few humans ever see the inside of the club. I’m one of the privileged few.

Because of my friendship with Praxus Odetti, who owned the Hoof and Horn, Jivvy was given a private room in the infirmary. The physician on call was someone I knew and had dealt with on previous occasions, a centaur named Lukanius. His hair and beard were steel-gray, both short-cropped, and he wore a long white smock over the human half of his torso. Thick, white cotton slippers covered his massive hooves. I stood off to the side while he examined Jivvy. But my eyes were on her brother Vaddo. Mazo had found him eating breakfast at the Hungry Hyena, told him what had happened to his sister and where she’d been taken.

Vaddo’s braided locks of black hair drooped to his shoulders, reminding me of a willow that had wept itself to death. His chestnut eyes and sepia-toned face bore a shadow of fear, and maybe guilt, too. He had quit the Academy of Alchemy in Tolmarinia shortly after his and Jivvy’s parents perished in a storm at sea, about four months earlier. Now he seemed unusually distant and preoccupied. I wondered where he’d been when Jivvy had ventured into that clearing.

When Doctor Lukanius finished examining Jivvy, he joined us. “Your sister is in a state of shock, triggered by whatever happened to her, Mister Trenovis,” he told Vaddo. “Do you have any idea what she’d been doing out there in the cold?”

Vaddo shook his head and clung to the blanket Mazo had used to cover his sister.

I glanced at Jivvy, lying so still and quiet in the bed, her eyes open but unseeing. Her skin was still tinged a pale shade of blue, but the discoloration had begun to fade once the doctor took over and gave her some kind of potion. I reached out and gently touched her brow. Her body was slightly warmer, too. But not much.

“My guess is that she was trying to perform some sort of defensive magic,” said Mazo.

The centaur nodded and looked at me. “Do you have any idea what type of magic she was using, Mister Mikawber? Sorcery? Wizardry? Witchcraft?”

“No, I don’t.”

“When will she be able to go home?” Vaddo asked.

“I can’t say for certain at this time,” the doctor replied.

The look on Vaddo’s face made me wonder if his mind wasn’t visiting another reality.

“Are you going to be all right?” I asked him.

He blinked several times, as if waking from a trance. “Yes, I’m fine. I was just wondering how I’m going to tell Erula about what happened to Jivvy.”

“Erula Sarforn? Your old flame?”

“Who else?”

“Are you seeing each other again?”

“Yes. We plan to marry.”

“I’m very happy for you, Vaddo. Your parents would be happy, too, I’m sure.” I turned to Mazo. “I wish Praxus and Heegy hadn’t gone off on their little treasure hunt in the Knuckleback Hills. I hate to go this one alone.”

Mazo frowned at me. “So what am I . . . invisible?”

“Cham, we both know how much you hate getting involved in situations where magic is concerned. But I know I can count on you if need be.”

“Damn right you can. Keep me informed of Jivvy’s condition and let me know if there’s anything I can do.”

“I will.”

Mad Shadows cover by David M. Stanley-smallMazo left to go about his duties and I returned my attention to Jivvy. I couldn’t stop thinking about those worms, however . . . and the two sets of cloven hoof prints in the snow.

Jivvy suddenly screamed — and then vomited a monstrous cobra formed of green mist. It floated about the room and huddled in the air, hissing and snapping at us. Jivvy writhed and twisted as if she were having a seizure. The cobra reared back, fangs bared as it swayed in the air to the music of some unseen snake charmer. But it didn’t attack. It seemed to be there for only one reason: to watch us.

Doctor Lukanius raced to the door leading to the outer hallway, shouting, “Sahlyra! Sahlyra, come quickly. We need you!”

Vaddo stared at me, looking like a deer caught in a hunter’s sight. “What’s wrong, Dorgo? What’s going on?”

Before I could answer, the centaur came trotting back into the room, the clip-clop of his hooves on the flagstones somewhat muffled by his cotton slippers. Behind him followed a tall, attractive woman I’d known for years: Lisera Icari. She was a healer who specialized in the magical arts; what the Muthologians of Khanya-Toth call sahlyri . . . Spellbreakers.

Lisera glanced at me with her big, piercing blue eyes. “Out of the way, Dowser.”

Pushing me aside, she removed the blue, hooded cloak she wore over a green jerkin, matching boots, and brown leggings. Next, she pulled three clay, turquoise discs from one of the pouches hanging from her jade-colored belt. Then, while that cobra of green mist hovered over us like a sentry straight out of Hell, she stuck the discs to the stone wall above Jivvy’s bed. Finally, Lisera stepped away from the bed, one hand resting on the hilt of the curved tamuzai sword dangling at her hip. Her skin darkened by a few shades and her sparkling blue eyes turned black as she stared at the cobra.

The cobra hissed at us but didn’t venture any closer.

Jivvy thrashed about wildly, moaning incoherently.

Reaching into another pouch, Lisera pulled out a small piece of blue kyanite used for cleansing and protection, and threw it at the vaporous serpent. When the mineral struck the cobra, it exploded in a ball of dust that enveloped the apparition and absorbed it until nothing was left but a thin film of ash that drifted lazily to the floor like so many turquoise dust motes.

“Easy, lass,” Lisera said soothingly, touching Jivvy’s brow. “Go to sleep.”

Jivvy let out a long sigh, closed her eyes and fell asleep. Lisera straightened the bedclothes and nodded to us, giving me a long, almost chastising sort of look.

“She’s safe, for now,” she said, her skin and eyes returning to their normal color. “I set up a defensive Ward, but I’m not sure how long it will last. I’m not even sure if it’s powerful enough to protect her.”

“What’s wrong with my sister?” Vaddo asked.

Lisera’s blue eyes burned into his. She didn’t bother to mince words. She never did. “Your sister is being assaulted by some form of dark magic.”

Vaddo shook his head and sat in a chair beside the bed.

I’d first met Lisera some years earlier while I was on business in Chattamoor, a hamlet just a few hours’ ride south of Valdar. She lived on the outskirts of the village, on a small farm surrounded by dense, wild woodland. She was a single woman with a grown son teaching theology at the University of Fallambria. Though born in Valdar, she’d spent most of her life studying at the Ministry of Healing in Kyenshua, a country so far to the east that many believed if you sailed any further east you’d fall off the edge of the world. While living in Kyenshua she met Valuta Jefoor, who later emigrated to Rojahndria and eventually settled in Widow’s Fell.

“What the devil was that thing? That cobra?” I asked her.

“A Sentinel,” she said. “Someone or something is watching Jivvy — and not for her own protection, that’s for damn sure.” She gave me a long, hard look. “What have you got?”

I told her that my dowsing rod had detected no trace of anything supernatural or demonic when I’d examined Jivvy in the clearing earlier that morning. I was certain that some form of Odylic Power had been used, but whatever Jivvy had been attempting to do had failed and maybe even rebounded on her. Then I told her about the strange black worms.

“They’re called vermicupoids,” she told me. “Easily trained and highly intelligent creatures, you know. They can regenerate new limbs and even reattach themselves to their decapitated heads, if they’re quick about it.”

“So I discovered.”

“The vermicupoids are often used to guard against anyone using the Dark Light of Odylic Power,” she went on. “They come from Dasheeria, near Mount Seleni. You may have found it easy enough to destroy the worms, but if you had tried to use dark magic against them, they would have eaten you, body and soul.”

My stomach did a little sailor’s jig just thinking about that. “Jivvy isn’t a trained adept. So how would she get her hands on those creatures, here in Valdar?”

“She could have purchased them from some mage selling spells, potions, and grimoires.”

The mention of books made me think of something. I showed her and Vaddo the charred remains of the book I’d found in the clearing. “Could this be one of yours, Vaddo?”

He glanced at the book and shook his head. “I left my books at the academy when I quit.”

“Maybe Jivvy acquired the book the same way she acquired the vermicupoids?” Lisera suggested. “It wouldn’t be too difficult, if you had the money and knew where to look.”

“Makes sense,” I said. “Now all I need to do is find the right mage.”

“Good luck. In Valdar, that’s like trying to find one particular snowflake in a blizzard.”

MAD SHADOWS 2 BACK Cover-smallI laughed softly and stared into her marvelous blue eyes . . . eyes that glittered and twinkled like the eyes of a mischievous child. Her long, brown hair was soft and fine, with nary a strand of gray. Her unblemished skin was the color of sand on a tropical island beach. She wore hooped earrings made of pure silver that glistened in the lamplight. When she smiled, she looked only half her forty-odd years.

“Are you still gazing into your crystal balls?” I asked.

“Still scratching yours with that mojo crutch you carry?” Lisera had taught me many uses for my dowsing rod; she called it a divining wand. We laughed for a moment and then she grew serious. “It broke my heart to hear what happened to Valuta,” she said quietly. “She was a very special lady and a damned good friend.”

“I know,” I replied. “What happened to her . . . it was a nightmare.”

“You liked her, didn’t you?”

“Yes, I liked her. I liked her very much.”

Lisera scowled and punched me in the shoulder. “I thought you liked me?”

I was caught off guard. “I — I do like you.”

She shook her head with disapproval. “Trouble with you is that you like all women, period. You just can’t make up your mind on which one of us you like best.”

“You really know how to hurt my feelings, you know that? But the truth is . . . I fell in love with Valuta.” She squeezed my hand and nodded. “So, what are you doing here?” I asked.

“I recently accepted a consulting position.”

I whistled. That was a great honor. “I’m impressed, Lisera.”

“Thanks. I’m only here a few days each week. I was getting ready to go home when Doctor Lukanius called me. Jivvy’s condition has him and his colleagues baffled, and it’s not easy to baffle centaur physicians.”

“Well, I’ve baffled them before.”

Lisera laughed softly. “I’m not surprised, knowing you.”

“Excuse me, Sahlyra . . . do you think you can help my sister?” asked Vaddo.

“I am certainly going to try.”

I pulled out the scrap of paper and showed it to Lisera. “I found this in Jivvy’s hand.”

“Ophidious Garloo?” She shook her head. “You think it’s someone’s name?”

“I think so.” I returned the paper to my pocket and rubbed my crooked nose.

Lisera frowned thoughtfully. “What are you going to do?”

“Guess I’ll nose around and see what I can dig up.”

“Be careful, Dorgo. Your nose is way too big to be shoving it where it doesn’t belong.”

Jivvy tossed and turned, moaning in her delirium.

“It’s like she has one foot in the grave already,” said Vaddo, his voice a whisper of fear.


Mad Shadows II — Dorgo the Dowser and The Order of the Serpent

Copyright © 2017 Joe Bonadonna

Published by the author through CreateSpace Independent Publishing Platform

Available in paperback and Kindle editions. Book cover art, illustrations, book

formatting and book interior design by Erika M Szabo

www.goldenboxbooks.com


Joe BonadonnaJoe Bonadonna

Joe started writing songs and stories in 1970, and sold a few short stories in the early 1980s. So far, he’s published four books: the sword and sorcery collection Mad Shadows: The Weird Tales of Dorgo the Dowser, published by iUniverse; the space opera, Three Against The Stars, published by Airship27; Waters of Darkness, a sword and sorcery pirate adventure, in collaboration with David C. Smith, and published by Damnation Books; and Mad Shadows II — Dorgo the Dowser and The Order of the Serpent, published in trade paperback and digital formats in January 2017.

His first sword and soul story, “The Blood of the Lion,” appeared in GRIOTS 2: Sisters of the Spear, from by MVmedia.

Joe’s Dorgo the Dowser novelette “The Moonstones of Sor Lunarum” appeared in Black Gate in December 2011, and it has proven to be one of the most popular stories we’ve ever published. Another novellas featuring Dorgo, “The Book of Echoes,” appeared in the 2013 anthology Azieran: Artifacts and Relics from Heathen Oracle, and the novella “The Order of the Serpent” is scheduled to appear in a special sword and sorcery edition of Weird Tales online magazine.

Joe has also written a number of articles and book reviews for Black Gate online magazine.

Photo by Erin Lynn Ransford.

Click on the photo for a large version.

Comments.


Mad Shadows II: Dorgo the Dowser and The Order of the Serpent by Joe Bonadonna

Tuesday, January 24th, 2017 | Posted by Fletcher Vredenburgh

oie_2452510XuzP2C1Joe Bonadonna’s a friend of Black Gate and, I’m proud to say, a friend of mine. He’s also a heck of a teller of hardboiled action and adventure tales. After too many years out of the toilsome fields of swords & sorcery, he returned in 2010 with a top-flight collection of short stories about one Dorgo Mikawber, dowser of magic and handy with a saber. I discovered Joe and that book, Mad Shadows (2010) here on the virtual pages of Black Gate, and reviewed it over on my site about four years ago.

After another significant hiatus he’s returned with a second collection of Dorgo’s adventures: Mad Shadows II: Dorgo the Dowser and The Order of the Serpent (2017). That’s a lot of title for a book that just crosses the two-hundred page mark, but it gives a nice sense of the pulpy goodness that lies betwixt its covers.

Dorgo Mikawber was raised in an orphanage, served in the army, and now makes his living as a magical investigator and finder of lost people. Last time out Dorgo’s adventures took him all over the continent of Aerlothia on the world of Tanyime. This time around his wanderings are more limited, starting in the countryside just beyond his home city, Valdar.

MS II is a fix-up. It’s made up of three separate tales, each linked to the other, weaving a larger story of Dorgo’s fight against the mysterious Order of the Serpent and its leader, Ophidious Garloo.

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Black Gate Online Fiction: An Excerpt from Mad Shadows II by Joe Bonadonna

Saturday, January 28th, 2017 | Posted by John ONeill

Mad Shadows 2 cover by Erika M. Szabo-small MAD SHADOWS 2 BACK Cover-small

Joe Bonadonna’s Dorgo the Dowser novelette “The Moonstones of Sor Lunarum,” part of Joe’s first swords and sorcery collection, Mad Shadows: The Weird Tales of Dorgo the Dowser, is one of the most popular pieces of fiction ever posted at Black Gate. Joe’s other contributions to the Black Gate Online Fiction library include an exclusive excerpt from Waters of Darkness, his supernatural pirate dark fantasy novel co-written with David C. Smith, and his recent story “Queen of Toads,” an old-fashioned pulp horror tale.

Black Gate is very pleased to offer our readers an exclusive excerpt from Part Three of Mad Shadows II — Dorgo the Dowser and The Order of the Serpent, published in trade paperback and digital formats this month.

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The Coming of Dorgo the Dowser

Friday, July 20th, 2012 | Posted by William Patrick Maynard

mad-shadowfrank_frazetta_manapeGrowing up in the 1970s, the Ballantine editions of Edgar Rice Burroughs’ Tarzan series and the Ace Conan series were part of my steady diet. Seminal pulp fiction graced with stunning cover art by the likes of Neal Adams, Boris Vallejo, and Frank Frazetta. The cover art for the Conan books perfectly captured a bygone savage world that never existed in mankind’s past, but should have. While most Robert E. Howard fans have long since rejected these editions because of the sometimes gratuitous changes made to the original text, the impact of the Conan paperback series on the proliferation of the fantasy subgenre cannot be underestimated.

My own passion for sword & sorcery waned somewhere around the time that Robert Jordan took up his pen to tell bolder and ever more sweeping tales of the Hyborian Age for Tor Books that dwarfed the originals without ever capturing the same sense of wonder. I closed the book on that chapter of my life not long after starting junior high and never expected to revisit it. Flash forward to 2012 when I discovered Mad Shadows: the Weird Tales of Dorgo the Dowser by Joe Bonadonna and found that sometimes you can go home again.

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Dorgo the Dowser and Me

Tuesday, August 9th, 2011 | Posted by Joe Bonadonna

mad_shadowsWhen John O’Neill invited me to write article about my collection of sword and sorcery stories, Mad Shadows: The Weird Tales of Dorgo the Dowser, for the Black Gate blog, I was naturally thrilled and honored. I was also somewhat uncertain.

Where do I begin? What should I say?

So I asked myself… why not first tell readers something about your book — the world of Tanyime, the kingdom of Rojahndria, the city of Valdar, and its main character — and then talk a little bit about how it all came to be? Well, here goes.

Mad Shadows is a picaresque novel — six interconnected sword and sorcery tales featuring Dorgo the Dowser, a sort of private eye set in the 14thcentury of my alternate world. It is pulp-fiction, old-school sword and sorcery with a film noir twist. That’s one of the reasons for the subtitle, The Weird Tales of Dorgo the Dowser, and the retro look of the cover.

One reason of the reasons Dorgo is known as the Dowser is because he’s a sort of private investigator, searching for clues and answers like someone searching for water with a dowsing rod. The other reason for his epithet is that he actually uses a special kind of dowsing rod in his line of work. There are all kinds of dowsing tools, and each has its own special use or “power.” I even think that dowsing rods may be the inspiration for what we call “magic wands.”

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Of Swords & Scrolls: An Interview with Author David C. Smith

Tuesday, October 15th, 2019 | Posted by Joe Bonadonna

GuestOfHonor2

David C. Smith, June 2019 delivering the Guest of Honor presentation at Howard Days 2019

Joe Bonadonna introduces David C. Smith

In 1978, before emails and the Internet, I was working on a novella and reading Dave’s excellent first novel, Oron, when I came across a plot device/character trait in his novel that bore a striking similarity to something I had already incorporated into my story. Already a fan of Dave’s, and knowing he knew Charles Saunders, to whom I had sold several short stories for his and Charles de Lint’s excellent Dragonfields, I asked Saunders for Dave’s address; he was still living in his hometown of Youngstown, Ohio at the time. I wrote Dave a letter and he responded almost immediately. From 1978 until early 1996, when he and his wife Janine — who has a graphic design degree and is a very talented illustrator who did the maps for the brand-new, Wildside Press edition of Dave’s Fall of the First World trilogy — moved to Palatine, IL we kept up a steady correspondence that rivaled if not exceeded the lengthy correspondence between Robert E. Howard and H. P. Lovecraft. Their move occurred during a time when Dave and I had taken vacations from writing. But during the summer of 1996, I finally persuaded him to work with me on a zombie apocalypse screenplay called Twilight of the Dead (later retitled Children of the Grave), and then we collaborated on what we consider to be a solid screenplay called Magicians, which was based on his two David Trevisan novels: The Fair Rules of Evil and The Eyes of Night. That script did exceedingly well in screenplay competitions and we still have hope that one day it will be optioned by some wise, far-sighted and talented producer or director. (By the way, it was at the late and lamented Top Shelf Books in Palatine, at the monthly author’s live-reading night in 2010, where Dave and I met John O’Neill, the Great Eye of Black Gate.)

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9 Seasons of Hell on Earth: Some Thoughts About The Walking Dead, Part Two

Saturday, September 28th, 2019 | Posted by Joe Bonadonna

NightOfTheLivingDead 1968

Night of the Living Dead (1968)

dawn of the dead 1978

Dawn of the Dead (1978)

DayOfThedead-1985

Day of the Dead (1985)

“Yeah, they’re dead. They’re all messed up.”  — George A. Romero, Night of the Living Dead (original 1968)

Oh, How Those Zombies Have Evolved, Devolved and Decayed!

This ends a two-post series (Part One here) on The Walking Dead. The first post concluded with the observation that TWD has a mysterious lack of “zombie” vocabulary.

To my knowledge, George A Romero invented the flesh-eating zombie genre. Before him there were films like White Zombie, I Walked with a Zombie, and The Zombies of Mora Tau — films I saw as a kid in the 1950s and 1960s, and all of them deal with more traditional, Haitian-voodoo zombies. After the original Night of the Living Dead, filmmakers such as Dario Argento and Lucio Fulci jumped into the zombie arena. Then came a host of spin-offs, take-offs, remakes, reboots and rip-offs.

I always thought George Romero never used the word zombie in his Living Dead films. But after binge-watching all six of his living dead films, I learned a few things. In Night of the Living Dead, the Dead are referred to as cannibals and ghouls. In Dawn of the Dead, the character of Peter (Ken Foree) calls them zombies; the end credits list four actors under the heading, LEAD ZOMBIES. The characters in Day of the Dead call the Dead everything but zombies. By the time Romero got around to filming Land of the Dead, the zombie genre had exploded like a Walker’s head after being hit by a shotgun blast. In this film, the Dead are called Stenches, although one character refers to them as Walkers. Dennis Hopper calls them zombies in one scene. In Diary of the Dead, which I consider Romero’s best, and was basically a reboot of the series, no one knows what’s going on, and the Living Dead are referred to as “the Dead.” In his final film, Survival of the Dead, the word zombie is used a couple of times. Tom Savini’s fairly decent 1990 remake of Night of the Living Dead, with a new screenplay by George Romero, went back to the basics and did not use zombie as a term for the Living Dead.

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9 Seasons of Hell on Earth: Some Thoughts About The Walking Dead, Part One

Thursday, September 26th, 2019 | Posted by Joe Bonadonna

twd-2

I chose to finally write about The Walking Dead after nine seasons because of the departure of a major character, which changed the whole dynamic of the series, turning it into a different direction (Season 10 broadcasts Oct 6, 2019). For fans of the show, much of what is in this article is me stating the obvious. I know many people who have stopped watching the show after various seasons, for one reason or another. I also know people who have never watched TWD and never will, and some who have just started watching. There may be some hints and clues about certain things, but there are no real spoilers here. This article is about how the show affects me, personally.

Someone on Facebook commented that they stopped watching simply because the show is so sad, even depressing. True. This is not a comedy. There’s a lot of sorrow and sadness in almost every episode, a veritable trail of tears. Sometimes the grief on an actor’s face is enough to get to me. There are powerful emotions here: both love and hate, as well as fear and horror in the eyes of the characters; there’s also plenty of heart and soul poured into these scenes, which the cast so effectively conveys. As a relative told me when we were discussing the series over the Labor Day weekend, “My heart has been ripped out over and over again by what happens to these characters. I feel their pain, I feel their grief and I mourn with them.” I agree with her. I’ve gotten caught up in the lives and deaths of these characters. So please, bear with me.

Although I’ve read only a handful of Robert Kirkman’s graphic novels, I’ve been a fan of the television series since episode one, and still remain a fan. I’m not a mad puppy because the show’s producers and writers made some changes which aren’t part of Kirkman’s mythos. Certain characters that had been killed in the graphic novels became so popular on the TV show that the producers decided to keep them around. Other popular characters were killed off on the show and, as most writers know, characters and plot twists often demand to be heard and made.

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A (Black) Gat in the Hand: Joe Bonadonna’s ‘Hardboiled Film Noir’ (Part One)

Monday, October 22nd, 2018 | Posted by Bob Byrne

I reached out to some friends to help me with A (Black) Gat in the Hand, as I certainly can’t cover everything and do it all justice. Our latest guest is author and fellow Black Gater, Joe Bonadonna. And Joe delivered an in-depth look at hardboiled adaptations on the silver screen. In fact, he covered so much ground, it’s gonna be a two-parter! So, let’s dig in! 


Hardboiled Film Noir: From Printed Page to Moving Pictures (Part One)

“You’re the second guy I’ve met within hours who seems to think a gat in the hand means a world by the tail.” — Phillip Marlowe in Raymond Chandler’s The Big Sleep

Prologue

Bonadonna_HardboiledAnthologyCrime does not discriminate. From city streets and slums to quiet suburbia, from the mansions of the rich to the boardrooms of the powerful, crime is alive and well. It can be found in dance halls, beer halls and gambling halls . . . speakeasies, seedy gin joints, smoke-filled pool halls, dive hotels, and wharf-side saloons. Crime exists everywhere, and writers and filmmakers have been telling stories about crime since Gutenberg invented the printing press.

This article deals mainly with American pulp fiction, novels and films, and a few theatrical plays, too. I’m going to give a little background history on the source material for these films and on some of the writers who penned the original stories upon which they were based.

Long ago, long before television came along, the film industry turned to books, magazine stories, theatrical plays, and radio shows for their source material, as well as original screenplays. Movie moguls bought the rights to numerous best-selling novels, mined the pages of pulp magazines, comic books, and even newspaper comic strips.

Many films made during this period were Saturday matinee serials such as Flash Gordon, Buck Rogers, Superman, Batman, Captain Marvel, and The Shadow. Dick Tracy was actually given a series of stand-alone films, and of course we had Edgar Rice Burroughs’ Tarzan.

Most of these serials were the “comic book” films about pulp fiction superheroes, caped crusaders, masked avengers, and magical crime fighters. Many others films, however, were turned into “programmers,” as they were sometimes called: B-pictures with low budgets, made by up-and-coming directors, and featuring actors who had not yet attained A-list status.

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