Beneath a Vengeful Sun

By Ron Leighton

The concubine Ránača, despairing over her dead family and status, agonizes when Mother Volhuxa, oldest of Master Hergesto's bed-slaves, informs her that they will be sent out of the main house to live with the other slaves. Ránača fears what this will mean--and wonders whether she wants to live at all.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ron Leighton
• Release date: Jan 16, 2012
• ISBN: 9781466023222

Ron Leighton

Born of gypsy parents in a small Romanian town in the shadows of the Transylvanian Alps, Ron began writing fiction at the beginning of this sentence. Um, is there time for a do-over? In the Year of Our Lord nineteen hundred and sixty five, and in Albuquerque, NM, the very corazon you might say, of the Land of Enchantment, Ron was born. He started writing after he read Tolkien’s 'Lord of the Rings'. I mean, right after. It was like he was abcessed. Er, obsessed. Along with Conan stories by various people, including Robert E. Howard, of course, Tolkien proved to be an unavoidable inspiration. The twists and turns of his life, especially in the last 10 years, have colored his writing with both humor, sorrow and, he hopes, heart. In addition to promoting his short stories, 'A Cheerful Smoke for the Dead,' 'Child of Chaos' and 'Beneath a Vengeful Sun,' he is busy shopping a full length novel called 'Belt of the Wolf: A Tale of the Shining Lands.'

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Beneath A Vengeful Sun

By Ron Leighton

Copyright © 2012 by Ron Leighton

Smashwords Edition

The cover art is based on a photo by Joanna Górnicka, used here with permission. http://www.panoramio.com/user/2398392.

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(Pronunciation key: á = ay, é = ee, č = ch, ei = eye, au = ow. The emphasis in names is always on the second syllable)

~ * ~

She stood before a black pit, watching it grow wider and deeper as it caved into itself. She felt the earth beneath her feet giving way, and dreaded the plunge that would follow. As she balanced there on the precipice, a foggy image floated up at her from the void and then came into focus, and she could clearly make out a pale face suspended there in the dark —an unshaven face with half-closed eyes, framed by wet, lank hair. Its mouth did not move, yet somehow it whispered regret to her in a ceaseless chant.

Suddenly she fell and the face rose up towards her, drawing closer and closer. An unvoiced scream itched in her throat for an endless moment.

The eyes sprang open.

Inhaling quickly, Ránača jolted awake from her dream and sat straight up in her cot. Her chest heaved and little beads of sweat glistened on her forehead. Her pale blonde hair and her bedding were damp with it. Even though she had left sleep behind, the nightmare lived in her mind for a few moments. She clenched her jaw and fought off an urge to cry.

The subtle light and sounds of morning tickled her senses. She blinked and let out a soft breath. I’m here. At the Waywoodgate. In my Master’s house. The notion brought her relief, though she did not smile.

Wiping her face, she felt eyes on her. But looking around the Master’s wide chamber, she found none. Master Hergesto and the other women —like Ránača, his harnéhá, concubines—remained in Telos’ land, asleep.

Damned dream, she muttered.

Where it had come from she didn’t know, but as terrible as it was, she felt